NIVERSITYO     CALFORNASANDEGO 


3  182200211  1532 


P  O   E  T   S'      W  I   T 


AM) 


HUMOUR. 

* 


SELECTED   EY  W.   H.   WILLS. 

ILLUSTRATED  WITH  ONE  HUNDRED  ENGRAVINGS  FROM  DRAWINGS 
BY  CHARLES  BENNETT  AND  GEORGE  H.  THOMAS. 


LJ 


LONDON: 

BELL    AND    DALDY,    186,   FLEET   STREET. 
MECTCUI. 


HE  MILLER  OF  TROMFINGTON  . 
POOR  AND  SURE 
THE  OLD  AND  YOUNG  COURTIER 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  TINKER 

THE  CONJURER  COUSENED  . 

JOLLY  GOOD  ALE  AND  OLD  . 

THE  LONDON  VACATION 

A  WEDDING 

OLD  HOBSON 

AN  HOLY  SISTER 

A  LOVER'S  CHRONICLE 

A  FRAGMENT  OF  SCIENCE     . 

HOLLAND      .... 

MR.  MILD-AND-SLY 

"  COME  TO  THE  MAY-POLE  !" 
GOOD  WINE  A  GENTLEMAN 


AITTIIUR  PAOE 
Geoffry  Chaucer  .  1 
Sir  Thomas  Wyatt  .  .  7 
From  Perry's  Reliqites  of  An- 
cient English  Pottry  .  10 
From  Percy's  Reliqiies  •  .  14 
Samuel  Rowlands  .  .  .  17 
From  Gammer  Giirton's  FeeiUe  20 
Sir  William  Darenant  .  .  22 
Sir  John  Suckling  .  .  29 
John  Milton  ...  34 
Abraham  Cowlry  ...  37 
Abraham  Cowlty  .  .  .  •  39 
Samuel  B tiler  ...  43 
Andrew  Marcel  .  .  .  4t> 
La  Fontaine.  Tratulited  by 

E.  Wright     ...  48 

From  IVestmintttr  Drullrry     .  51 
Francesco  Redi.       Translated 

by  Jjtigh  Hunt         .          .  55 


Contents. 


A  COAT  OF  ARMS         .        .        .        . 

BE  NOT  A  WIT 

SAINT  ANTHONY'S  SERMON  TO  THE  FISHES  . 
A  JOURNEY  TO  EXETER  .  .  ., . 

BAD  AUTHORS      

WORMS 

THE  SPLENDID  SHILLING      .... 

THE  WATER  CURE 

THE  TINKER  AND  GLAZIER  .... 

THE  THIEF  AND  CORDELIER 

A  LADY'S  DIARY  .         . 

A  LOVE  SONG.     IN  THE  MODERN  TASTE 

THE  MERRY  SOAP-BOILER    .... 

THE  VICAR  OF  BRAY    .        .         .         . 
A  HUNTING  WE  WILL  GO 
THE  PEPPER-BOX  AND  SALT-CELLAR     . 
THE  HONEST  MAN'S  LITANY 

THE  CHAMELEON 

THE  JACKDAW 

THE  PARROT        

GAFFER  GRAY 

CUPID  MISTAKEN  ..... 
CAPTAIN  (OF  MILITIA)  SIR  BILBERRY  DIDDLE 
THE  Ass  AND  THE  FLUTE  .... 

THE  DOUBLE  TRANSFORMATION  . 

THIRTY-FIVE 

THE  GASCON 

PROLOGUE  TO  BARBAROSSA  .... 
THE  BARBER'S  NUPTIALS  .... 

MONSIEUR  TONSON 

THE  LITERARY  LADY  ..... 

THE  CINDER-KING       ..... 

LODGINGS  FOR  SINGLE  GENTLEMEN 

THE  NEWCASTLE  APOTHECARY    . 

THE  TOPER  AND  THE  FLIES 

THE  APPLE  DUMPLINGS  AND  A  KING   . 

THE  PILGRIMS  AND  THE  PEAS 


AUTHOR  PACT. 
From  Westminster  Drollery      .  56 
Tom  D'Urfey         .          .          .  57 
Abraham  a  Sancta  Clura  58 
John  Gay      ....  61 
Alexander  Pope     .                   .67 
Alexander  Pope     .          .          .  70 
John  Philips           ...  72 
William  Harrison           .         .  77 
William  Harrison            .         .  81 
Matthew  Prior        .           .          .  85 
Jonathan  Stcift      ...  88 
Jonathan  Swift      .          .          .  97 
Frederick  Hagedorn.      Trans- 
lated by  E,   W.  Taylor    .  99 
Unknown      .           .          .           .  103 
Henry  Fielding      .          .          .  106 
William  Shenstone          .         .  109 
From  Gentleman 's  Magazine   .  113 
James  Merrick       .          .          .  115 
William  Cowper     .         .         .  118 
William  Cou-per    .         .          .  120 
Thomas  Holcroft  .         .         .  122 
William  Thompson         .          .  124 
From  Gentleman's  Magazine  .  125 
Tomas  De  Yriarte.  Translated 

by  T.Roscoe          .          .  127 

Oliver  Goldsmith  .         .         .  129 

Samuel  Johnson     .          .          .  133 
M.P.J.Charrin.     Translated 

by  W.  H.  Wills     .         .  134 

David  Garrick       .          .          .  138 

Unknown       .          .          .           .  141 

Uncertain     .          .          .          .  145 

Richard  Brinsley  Sht-riilan       .  151 

Matthew  Gregory  Lewis           .  153 

George  Colman  the  Younger     .  155 

George  Colman  the  Younger     .  157 

Dr.  Walcot,  (Peter  Pindar}      .  161 

Dr.   Walcot  .         .          .          .  163 

Dr.  Walcot  .  165 


Contents. 


Annm. >-  i<>  i  in    TIHII  H  vi  in. 


TIIK  DEVIL'S  WALK      . 

l>l  I  I  v's  1'OCKET   II  AM'KI  i:<  Illl  I 

COOL  REFLECTIONS 

Till.    LoVKR  AND  THE  LAI'-DOG 

TIIK  KMI  i  -t. KINDER 

Tin:  !M\i  K-IIV  OF  GOTTINGKN 

BEN  BLOCK  .'.... 

<  »l'l.    10  THE  TllKAD-MILL 

MALBROOCK  .  .  . 
TIIK  LITTLE  MAX  ALL  IN  GKEY  . 

THE  PLAYHOUSE  IN  FLAMES 
THE  VENTRILOQUIST     .        .        . 
MINI  UVA'S  THIMBLE    . 
A  PUBLISHER'S  EI-ISTLE        .    .     . 
THE  DEMON-SHI^  .        .        . 

FAITHLESS  SALLY  BROWN     .         . 
SI-RING.     A  NEW  VERSION  . 

A  COUNTRY  HOUSE  PARTY  . 
CAPTAIN  PATON  .  .  •  . 
THE  RED  FisiiKiiMAX  .  .  . 

SALAD  

THE  LITTLE  VULGAR  BOY   . 

THE  BELLE  OF  THE  BALL 

THE  COUNTRY  CLERGYMAN'S  TRII- 

SlR  WlLKINS  ET  SA  DlNAH      . 

THE  WONDERFUL  ONE-HOSS-SHAY 
THE  BALLAD  OF  ELIZA  DAVIS 
THE  BEAUTY  AND  THE  BEE  . 
THE  ANNUITY      .... 
ASK  AND  HAVE     .... 
A  LYRIC  FOR  LOVERS   .        .    •.    . 
ODE  TO  BIG  BEN  .... 
A  SEASONABLE  STORY  . 


H,Jxrt  Bum*          .          .  . 

UiH-t/ir.        Tr,ni»lnti-d    ////  ./  >'. 

Dicight         .         .  . 

Jiii-httrd  Porton      .           .  . 

Itolitrt  Southry        .           .  . 

l{nl,,rl  Simlhty       .          .  . 

S.iniml  7'ni/lnr  Coir  ridge  . 

Georgt  Canning     .          .  . 

George  Canning      .          .  . 

Thomat  Dibdin      ,         .  . 

Churlet  Lamb         .          .  . 

Unknown.   Translated  by  II  .  It'. 


J.  P.  De  Berangtr.  Translated 
by  Amelia  B.  Edwards  . 
Horace  Smith  .  .  . 
Sir  Walter  Scott  .  .  . 
Thomat  Moore  .  .  . 
Thomas  Moore  .  .  . 
Thomas  Hood  .  .  . 
Thomas  Hood  .  .  . 
Thomas  Hood  .  .  . 
Lord  Byron  .  .  . 

John  Gibson  Lockhart  .  . 
Winthorp  Mackicorth  Praed  . 
Sydney  Smith  .  .  . 
Richard  Harris  Burliam  . 

Albert  Smith  .          .         . 

I,ord  Marattlny  .  .  . 
Adapted  by  L.  W.  Dtsanges 
Oliver  Wendtll  Holmes  .  . 
W.  M.  Thacktnty  .  . 

Charles  Mackay  .  .  . 
George  Outran  .  .  . 
Samuel  Lover  .  .  . 
W.  H.  Wills  ... 
W.  H.  W,lls  ... 
Mark  Lemon  .  .  . 


170 
173 
17»-, 
178 
181 
183 
186 
188 
190 


197 
199 
204 
205 
207 
209 
212 
215 
218 


234 

2:).'i 
240 
244 
248 
251 


268 
270 
272 
274 


THE  MILLEK  OF  TKOMPINGTOX. 

OEOFFRY  CHAUCER. 

T  Trompington,  not  fer  fro  Cantebrigge,1 
Ther  goth  a  brook,  and  over  that  a  brigge, 
Upon  the  whiche  brook  ther  stont  a  melle  :- 
And  this  is  veray  sothe,  that  I  you  telle. 
A  miller  was  ther  dwelling  many  a  day, 
As  any  peacok  he  was  proude  and  gay : 

1  Cambridge.  2  Stands  a  mill. 


The  Miller  ofTrompington. 


Pipen  he  coude,  and  fishc,  and  nettes  bete, 

And  turnen  cuppes,  and  wrastlen  wel,  and  shete.1 

Ay  by  bis  belt  be  bare  a  long  parade, 

And  of  a  swerd  ful  trenchant  was  the  blade. 

A  joly  popper  bare  he  in  his  pouche  ; 

Ther  n'as  no  man  for  peril  dorst  him  touche. 

A  Shefeld  thwitel2  bare  he  in  his  hose. 

Round  was  his  face,  and  camuse3  was  his  nose. 

As  pilled  as  an  ape  was  his  skull. 

He  was  a  market-be ter4  at  the  full. 

Ther  dorste  no  wight  bond  upon  him  legge, 

That  he  ne  swore  he  shuld  anon  abegge. 

A  thefe  he  was  forsoth,  of  corn  and  mele, 
And  that  a  slie,  and  usant5  for  to  stele. 
His  name  was  hoten  deinous  Simekim. 
A  wyf  he  hadde,  comen  of  noble  kin. 

Gret  soken6  hath  this  miller  out  of  doute 
With  whete  and  malt,  of  all  the  land  aboute  ; 
And  namely  ther  was  a  gret  college 
Men  clepe7  the  Soler  hall  at  Cantebrege, 
Ther  was  hir  whete  and  eke  hir  malt  yground. 
And  on  a  day  it  happed  in  a  stound,8 
Sike  lay  the  manciple9  on  a  maladie, 
Men  wenden  wisly  that  he  shulde  die. 
For  which  this  miller  stale  both  mele  and  corn 
An  hundred  times  more  fhan  beforn. 
For  therbeforn  he  stale  but  curteisly, 
But  now  he  was  a  thefe  outrageously. 
For  which  the  werdein10  chidde  and  made  fare, 
But  therof  set  the  miller  not  a  tare ; 
He  craked  host,  and  swore  it  n'as  not  so. 

Than  were  ther  yonge  poure  scoleres  two, 
That  dwelten  in  the  halle  of  which  I  say ; 
Testif  they  were,  and  lusty  for  to  play  ; 


Shoot.  2  Knife.  3  Flat.  4  Market- swaggerer.  s  Accustomed. 

6  Pillage.          7  Called.  8  Suddenly.  9  Caterer.  10  Warden. 

2 


The  Miller  of  Trompington. 


And  only  for  hir  mirth  and  rcvclrie 

Upon  the-  wunlein  besily  they  crie, 

To  ycvc  hem  Icvc  but  a  litel  stouml, 

To  gon  to  mille,  and  seen  hir11  corn  yground  : 

Ami  hardily  they  dorsten  lay  hir  neeke, 

The  miller  shuld  not  stele  hem  half  a  peeke 

Of  corn  by  slcighte,  ne  by  force  hem  reve. 

And  at  the  last  the  wardrin  yave  hrm  leve  : 
John  highte  that  on,  and  Alein  highte  that  other. 
Of  o  toun  were  they  born,  that  highte  Strothcr, 
Fer  in  the  North,  I  can  not  tellen  where. 

This  Alein  maketh  redy  all  his  gere, 
And  on  a  hors  the  sack  he  cast  anon : 
Forth  goth  Alein  the  clerk,  and  also  John, 
AVith  good  swerd  and  with  bokeler  by  hir  side. 
John  knew  the  way,  him  ncded  not  no  guide, 
And  at  the  mille  the  sak  adoun  he  laith. 

Aleiu  spake  first ;  All  haile,  Simond,  in  faith. 
How  fares  thy  faire  daughter,  and  thy  wif  ? 

Alein,  welcome  (quod  Simkin)  by  my  lif, 
And  John  also  :  how  now,  wrhat  do  ye  here  ? 
By  God,  Simond,  (quod  John)  nede  has  no  pei-e. 
Him  behoves  serve  himself  that  has  na  swain, 
Or  elles  he  is  a  fool,  as  clerkes  sain. 
Our  manciple  I  hope  he  wol  be  ded, 
Swa  werkes  ay  the  wanges12  in  his  bed  : 
And  therfore  is  I  come,  and  eke  Alein, 
To  grind  our  corn  and  cary  it  hame  agein : 
I  pray  you  spede  us  henen  that  ye  may. 

It  shal  be  don  (quod  Simkin)  by  my  fa\ . 
What  wol  ye  don  while  that  it  is  in  hand? 
13y  God,  right  by  the  hopper  wol  I  stand, 
(Quod  John)  and  seen  how  that  the  corn  gas  in. 
Yet  saw  I  never  by  my  fader  kin, 
How  that  the  hopper  wagges  til  and  fra. 

Alein  answered  ;  John,  and  wolt  thou  MVU  ? 

"  Their.  la  Teetli. 


'The  Miller  of  Trompington. 


Thau  wol  I  be  benethe  by  my  croun, 
And  see  how  that  the  mele  falles  adoun 


In  til  the  trogh,  that  shall  be  my  disport : 
For,  John,  in  faith  I  may  ben  of  your  sort ; 


The  Miller  ofTrompington. 


I  is  as  ill  a  miller  as  is  yc. 

This  miller  smiled  at  hir  nicetee, 
And  thought,  all  this  n'is  don  but  for  a  wile. 
They  wenen1  that  no  man  may  hem  begile, 
But  by  my  thrift  yet  shal  I  blere  hir  eie, 
For  all  the  sleighte  in  hir  philosophic. 
The  more  queintc  knakkes  that  they  make, 
The  more  wol  I  stele  whan  that  I  take. 
In  stede  of  flour  yet  wol  I  yeve  hem  bren. 
The  gretest  clerkes  ben  not  the  wisest  men, 
As  whilom  to  the  wolf  thus  spake  the  mare  : 
Of  all  hir  art  nc  count  I  not  a  tare. 

Out  at  the  dorc  he  goth  ful  prively, 
Whan  that  he  saw  his  time,  softely. 
He  loketh  up  and  doun,  til  he  hath  found 
The  clerkes  hors,  ther  as  he  stood  ybound 
Behind  the  mille,  under  a  levesell  :8 
And  to  the  hors  he  goth  him  faire  and  well, 
And  stripeth  of  the  bridel  right  anon. 

And  whan  the  hors  was  laus,  he  gan  to  gon 
Toward  the  fen,  ther  wilde  mares  renne, 
And  forth,  with  wehec,  thurgh  thick  and  thin  no. 
This  miller  goth  again,  no  word  he  said, 
But  doth  his  note,  and  with  these  clerkes  plaid, 
Till  that  hir  corn  was  faire  and  wel  yground. 
And  whan  the  mele  is  sacked  and  ybound, 
This  John  goth  out,  and  fint  his  hors  away, 
And  gan  to  crie,  harow  and  wala  wa ! 
Our  hors  is  lost :  Alein,  for  Goddes  banes, 
Step  on  thy  feet ;  come  of,  man,  al  at  anes : 
Alas !  our  wardein  has  his  palfrey  lorn. 

This  Alein  al  forgat  both  mele  and  corn  ; 
Al  was  out  of  his  mind  his  husbandrie : 
What,  whilke  way  is  he  gon  ?  he  gan  to  crie. 

The  wif  came  leping  inward  at  a  renne, 
She  sayd  ;  Alas  !  youre  hors  goth  to  the  fennc 

1  Suppose.  *  Arbour. 


I  \ 


The  Miller  of  Tromplngton. 


With  wilde  mares,  as  fast  as  he  may  go. 
Unthank  come  on  his  hand  that  bond  him  so, 
And  he  that  better  shuld  have  knit  the  rein. 

Alas  !  (quod  John)  Alein,  for  Cristes  pein 
Lay  doun  thy  swerd,  and  I  shal  min  alswa. 
I  is  ful  wight,  God  wate,  as  is  a  ra.1 
By  Goddes  saule  he  shal  not  scape  us  bathe. 
Why  ne  had  thou  put  the  capel  in  the  lathe  ? 
Ill  haile,  Alein,  by  God  thou  is  a  fonne. 

These  sely  clerkes  ban  ful  fast  yronne 
Toward  the  fen,  bothe  Alein  and  eke  John : 
And  whan  the  miller  saw  that  they  were  gon, 
He  half  a  bushel  of  hir  flour  hath  take, 
And  bad  his  wif  go  knede  it  in  a  cake. 
He  sayd ;  I  trow,  the  clerkes  were  aferde, 
Yet  can  a  miller  make  a  clerkes  berde,2 
For  all  his  art.     Ye,  let  hem  gon  hir  way. 
Lo  wher  they  gon.     Ye,  let  the  children  play : 
They  get  him  not  so  lightly  by  my  croun. 

These  sely  clerkes  rennen  up  and  doun 
With  kepe,  kepe ;  stand,  stand ;  jossa,  warderere. 
Ga  whistle  thou,  and  I  shal  kepe  him  here. 
But  shortly,  til  that  it  was  veray  night 
They  coude  not,  though  they  did  all  hir  might, 
Hir  capel  catch,  he  ran  alway  so  fast : 
Til  in  a  diche  they  caught  him  at  the  last. 

Wery  and  wet,  as  bestes  in  the  rain, 
Cometh  sely  John,  and  with  him  cometh  Alein. 
Alas  (quod  John)  the  day  that  I  was  borne ! 
Now  are  we  driven  til  hething3  and  til  scorne. 
Our  corn  is  stolne,  men  wol  us  fonnes4  calle, 
Both  the  wardein,  and  eke  our  felawes  alle. 

1  Uoe.  2  "  Share,"  cant  for  to  cheat.  3  Contempt.  4  Fools. 


POOE  AND  SUKE. 

SIB  THOMAS  WYATT.1 

Y  mothers  maides  when  they  do  sowc  and  spinnc, 
They  sing  a  song  made  of  a  feldishc  mouse :  - 
That  for  bicause  her  lieulod3  was  but  thinne, 
Would  nedes  go  see  her  townish  sisters  house. 
She  thought  herself  endurde  to  greuous  paine, 
The  stormy  blastes  her  caue4  so  sore  did  sowse ; 
That  when  the  furrowse  swimmed  with  the  raiue, 
She  must  lye  colde,  and  wet  in  sorry  plight ; 
And  worse  then  that,  bare  meate  there  did  remaine, 
To  comfort  her,  when  she  her  house  had  dight. 

1  Of  Allington  Castle,  Kent;   born   1503.      Wyatt  was  a  boon  companion  of 
Henry  the  Eighth.     He  died  in  1541. 

3  Field-mouse.  3  Livelihood.  *  Cave. 

7 


Poor  and  Sure. 


Some  time  a  barley  corne,  sometime  a  beane, 
For  which  she  laboured  hard  both  day  and  night. 
In  haruest  time,  while  she  might  go  and  gleane, 
And  when  her  store  was  'stroyed  with  the  floode, 
Then  welaway  for  she  undone  was  clene  : 
Then  was  she  faine  to  take,  instede  of  foode 
Slepe  if  she  might,  her  hunger  to  begile. 

My  sister,  quod  she,  hath  a  liuing  good, 
And  hence  from  me  she  dwelleth  not  a  mile  ; 
In  colde  and  storme,  she  lyeth  warme  and  drye 
In  bed  of  downe  ;  the  durt  doth  not  defile 
Her  tender  fote,  she  labours  not  as  I. 
Eichely  she  fedes,  and  at  the  riche  man's  cost, 
And  for  her  meate  she  nedes  not  craue  nor  cry ; 
By  sea,  by  land,  of  delicates  the  most 
Her  cater  sekes,  and  spareth  for  no  perell : 
She  fedes  on  boyle  meate,  bake  meat,  and  rost, 
And  hath  therefore  no  whit  of  charge  nor  travell. 
And  when  she  list,  the  licour  of  the  grape 
Doth  glad  her  hart,  till  that  her  belly  swell, 
And  at  this  iourney  makes  she  but  a  iape.5 

So  forth  she  goes,  trusting  of  all  thys  wealth, 
With  her  sister  her  part  so  for  to  shape, 
That,  if  she  might  there  kepe  herself  in  health, 
To  Hue  a  lady  while  her  life  doth  last. 

And  to  the  dore  now  is  she  come  by  stealth, 
And  with  her  foote  anone  she  scrapes  full  fast. 
Thother  for  feare  durst  not  well  scarse  appeare ; 
Of  euery  noyse  so  was  the  wretch  agast. 
At  last,  she  asked  softly  who  was  there  ? 
And  in  her  language  as  well  as  she  could, 
"  Pepe"  (quod  the  other)  "  sister,  I  am  here." 
"  Peace"  (quod  the  towne  mouse)  "  why  speakest  thou  so  loude  ?' 
And  by  the  hand  she  toke  her  faire  and  well, 
"  Welcome,"  quod  she,  "  my  sister  by  the  rode." 

5  Jest. 

8 


Poor  and  Sure. 


She  feasted  her,  that  ioye  it  was  to  tell, 

The  fare  they  had ;  they  drank  the  wyne  so  clerc. 

And  as  to  purpose  now  and  then  it  fell 

She  chered  her,  with,  "  How,  sister,  what  chere?" 

Amid  this  ioy  hefell  a  sory  chance, 
That,  welaway,  the  stranger  bought  full  dere, 
The  fare  she  had  ;  for,  as  she  lookte  a  skauce, 
Under  a  stole  she  spied  two  shining  eyes 
In  a  rounde  head,  with  sharp  cares :  in  France 
Was  never  mouse  so  feard,  for  the  vnwisc 
Had  not  ysene  such  a  heast  hefore, 
Yet  had  nature  taught  her  after  gise 
To  know  her  fo,  and  dred  him  euermore  ; 
The  toune  mouse  fled,  she  knew  whither  to  go. 
The  other  had  no  shift,  but  wonders  sore ; 
Feard  of  her  life,  at  home  she  wisht  her  tho', 
And  to  the  dore,  alas  !  as  she  did  skippe, 
The  Heaven  it  would,  lo !  and  eke  her  chance  was  so, 
At  the  threshold  her  sely  fote  did  trippe, 
And,  ere  she  might  recouer  it  again, 
The  traytour  cat  had  caught  her  by  the  hippe, 
And  made  her  there  against  her  wyll  remaiue, 
That  hath  forgot  her  power  suertie,  and  rest, 
For  seking  welth,  wherin  she  thought  to  raigue. 


THE  OLD  AND  YOUNG  COURTIEK. 


N  old  song  made  by  an  aged  old  pate,1 
Of  an  old  worshipful  gentleman,  who  had  a  greate  estate, 
That  kept  a  hrave  old  house  at  a  bountiful  rate, 
And  an  old  porter  to  relieve  the  poor  at  his  gate ; 

Like  an  old  courtier  of  the  queen's, 

And  the  queen's  old  courtier. 

With  an  old  lady,  whose  anger  one  word  asswages ; 
They  every  quarter  paid  their  old  servants  their  wages, 
And  never  knew  what  belong'd  to  coachmen,  footmen,  nor  pages. 
But  kept  twenty  old  fellows  with  blue  coats  and  badges ; 
Like  an  old  courtier,  «fcc. 

With  an  old  study  fill'd  full  of  learned  old  books, 
With  an  old  reverend  chaplain,  you  might  know  him  by  his  looks. 
With  an  old  buttery  hatch  worn  quite  off  the  hooks, 
And  an  old  kitchen,  that  maintaiu'd  half-a-dozen  old  cooks : 
Like  an  old  courtier,  <fec. 

With  an  old  hall,  hung  about  with  pikes,  guns,  and  bows, 
With  old  swords,  and  bucklers,  that  had  borne  many  shrewde  blows, 
And  an  old  frize  coat,  to  cover  his  worship's  trunk  hose, 
And  a  cup  of  old  sherry,  to  comfort  his  copper  nose  ; 
Like  an  old  courtier,  &c. 

1  The  owner  of  which  has  never  been  discovered. 
10 


The  Old  and  Young  Courtier. 


With  a  good  old  fashion,  when  Christmause  wn*  come, 
To  rail  in  all  his  old  neighbours  with  bagpipe  and  drum, 
With  good  ehcur  enough  to  I'unii-li  every  old  room, 
And  old  liquor  able  to  make  a  cat  speak,  and  man  dumb, 
Like  an  old  courtier,  (fee. 


With  an  old  falconer,  huntsman,  and  a  kennel  of  hounds, 
That  never  hawked,  nor  hunted,  but  in  his  own  grounds. 
Who,  like  a  wise  man,  kept  himself  within  his  own  bounds, 
And  when  he  dyed  gave  every  child  a  thousand  good  pomul-  : 
Like  an  old  courtier,  &c. 

]Jut  to  his  eldest  son  his  house  and  land  he  assign'd, 
Charging  him  in  his  will  to  keep  the  old  bountiful!  mind. 
To  he  good  to  his  old  tenants,  and  to  his  neighbours  be  kind : 
But  in  the  ensuing  ditty  you  shall  hear  how  lie  was  inclin'd ; 

Like  a  young  courtier  of  the  king's, 

And  the  king's  young  courtier. 


ir. 


IKE  a  flourishing  young  gallant,  newly  come  to  his  land, 
Who  keeps  a  brace  of  painted  madams  at  his  command, 
And  takes  up  a  thousand  pound  upon  his  father's  land, 
And  gets  drunk  in  a  tavern,  till  he  can  neither  go  nor  stand  ; 
Like  a  young  courtier  of  the  king's, 
And  the  king's  young  courtier. 
11 


The  Old  and  Young  Courtier. 


With  a  new-fangled  lady,  that  is  dainty,  nice,  and  spare, 

Who  never  knew  what  belong'd  to  good  house-keeping,  or  care, 


Who  buyes  gaudy-color'd  fans  to  play  with  wanton  air, 
And  seven  or  eight  different  dressings  of  other  womens  hair ; 
Like  a  young  courtier,  <fec. 


The  Old  and  Young  Courtier. 


With  a  new-fashion  M  linll,  built  where  the  old  one  stood, 
Iltmg  round  with  new  pictures,  that  do  the  poor  no  good, 
With  n  fine  marble  chimney,  wherein  burns  neither  coal  nor  wood, 
And  a  new  smooth  shovelboard,  whereon  no  victuals  ne'er  stood  ; 
Like  a  young  courtier,  &c. 

With  a  new  study,  stuft  full  of  pamphlets,  and  plays, 
And  a  new  chaplain,  that  swears  faster  than  he  prays, 
With  a  new  buttery  hatch,  that  opens  once  in  four  or  five  days, 
And  a  new  French  cook,  to  devise  fine  kickshaws,  and  toys ; 
Like  a  young  courtier,  <fec. 

With  a  new  fashion,  when  Christmas  is  drawing  on, 
On  a  new  journey  to  London  straight  we  all  must  begone, 
And  leave  none  to  keep  house,  but  our  new  porter  John, 
Who  relieves  the  poor  with  a  thump  on  the  back  with  a  stone ; 
Like  a  young  courtier,  *fcc. 

With  a  new  gentleman-usher,  whose  carriage  is  compleat, 
With  a  new  coachman,  footmen,  and  pages  to  cany  up  the  meat, 
"With  a  waiting-gentlewoman,  whose  dressing  is  very  neat, 
\Vho,  when  her  lady  has  din'd,  lets  the  sen-ants  not  eat ; 
Like  a  young  courtier,  «fec. 

With  new  titles  of  honour  bought  with  his  father's  old  gold, 
For  which  sundry  of  his  ancestors'  old  manors  are  sold ; 
And  this  is  the  course  most  of  our  new  gallants  hold, 
"Which  makes  that  good  house-keeping  is  now  grown  so  cold, 

Among  the  young  courtiers  of  the  king, 

And  the  king's  young  courtiers. 


THE  DUKE  AND  THE  TINKER. 


OW  as  fame  does  report  a  young  duke  keeps  a  court, 
One  that  pleases  his  fancy  with  frolicksome  sport ; 
But  amongst  ah1  the  rest,  here  is  one  I  protest, 
Which  will  make  you  to  smile  when  you  hear  the  true  jest ; 

A  poor  tinker  lie  found,  lying  drunk  on  the  ground, 

As  secure  in  a  sleep  as  if  laid  in  a  swound. 

The  duke  said  to  his  men,  William,  Richard,  and  Ben, 
Take  him  home  to  my  palace,  we'll  sport  with  him  then. 

14 


The  Duke  and  the  Tinker. 


O'er  a  horse  he  was  luid,  and  with  core  soon  convey'd 

To  the  palace,  altho'  he  was  poorly  nrrui'd : 

Then  (hey  stript  off  his  cloaths,  both  his  shirt,  shoes,  and  hose, 

And  they  put  him  to  hed  for  to  take  his  repose. 

Having  pull'd  off  his  shirt,  which  was  all  over  durt, 

They  did  give  him  elean  holland  :  this  was  no  great  hurt ; 

On  a  hed  of  soft  down,  like  a  lord  of  renown, 

They  did  lay  him  to  sleep  the  drink  out  of  his  crown. 

In  the  morning  when  day,  then  admiring  he  lay, 

For  to  see  the  rich  chamber  both  gaudy  and  gay. 

Now  he  lay  something  late,  in  his  rich  bed  of  state, 
Till  at  lost  knights  and  squires  they  on  him  did  wait ; 
And  the  chamberling  bare,  then  did  likewise  declare, 
He  desir'd  to  know  what  apparel  he'd  ware : 
The  poor  tinker  amaz'd,  on  the  gentleman  u'az'd, 
And  admired  how  he  to  this  honour  was  rais'd. 

Tho'  he  seem'd  something  mute,  yet  he  chose  a  rich  suit, 
Which  he  straitways  put  on  without  longer  dispute ; 
With  a  star  on  his  side,  which  the  tinker  offt  ey'd, 
And  it  seem'd  for  to  swell  him  no  little  with  pride ; 
For  he  said  to  himself,  Where  is  Joan  my  sweet  wife  ? 
Sure  she  never  did  see  me  so  fine  in  her  life. 

From  a  convenient  place,  the  right  duke  his  good  grace 

Did  observe  his  behaviour  in  every  case. 

To  a  garden  of  state,  on  the  tinker  they  wait, 

Trumpets  sounding  before  him :  thought  he,  this  is  great : 

Where  an  hour  or  two,  pleasant  walks  he  did  view. 

With  commanders  and  squires  in  scarlet  and  blew. 

A  fine  dinner  was  drest,  both  for  him  and  his  guests, 
He  was  plac'd  at  the  table  above  all  the  rest, 
In  a  rich  chair  or  bed,  lin'd  with  fine  crimson  red, 
With  a  rich  golden  canopy  over  his  head : 


The  Duke  and  the  Tinker. 


As  he  sat  at  his  meat,  the  musick  play'd  sweet, 
With  the  choicest  of  singing  his  joys  to  corupleat. 

While  the  tinker  did  dine,  he  had  plenty  of  wine, 

Eich  canary  with  sherry  and  tent  superfine. 

Like  a  right  honest  soul,  faith,  he  took  off  his  bowl, 

Till  at  last  he  began  for  to  tumble  and  roul 

From  his  chair  to  the  floor,  where  he  sleeping  did  snore, 

Being  seven  times  drunker  than  ever  before. 

Then  the  duke  did  ordain,  they  should  strip  him  amain, 
And  restore  him  his  old  leather  garments  again : 
'Twas  a  point  next  the  worst,  yet  perform  it  they  must, 
And  they  carry'd  him  strait,  where  they  found  him  at  first ; 
Then  he  slept  all  the  night,  as  indeed  well  he  might ; 
But  when  he  did  waken,  his  joys  took  their  flight. 

For  his  glory  to  him  so  pleasant  did  seem, 

That  he  thought  it  to  be  but  a  nicer  golden  dream ; 

Till  at  length  he  was  brought  to  the  duke,  where  he  sought 

For  a  pardon,  as  fearing  he  had  set  him  at  nought ; 

But  his  highness  he  said,  Thou'rt  a  jolly  bold  blade, 

Such  a  frolick  before  I  think  never  was  plaid. 

Then  his  highness  bespoke  him  a  new  suit  and  cloak, 
Which  he  gave  for  the  sake  of  this  frolicksome  joak ; 
Nay,  and  five  hundred  pound,  with  ten  acres  of  ground, 
Thou  shalt  never,  said  he,  range  the  counteries  round, 
Crying  old  brass  to  mend,  for  I'll  be  thy  good  friend, 
Nay,  and  Joan  thy  sweet  wife  shall  my  duchess  attend. 

Then  the  tinker  reply'd,  What !  must  Joan  my  sweet  bride 

Be  a  lady  in  chariots  of  pleasure  to  ride  ? 

Must  we  have  gold  and  land  ev'ry  day  at  command  ? 

Then  I  shall  be  a  squire  I  well  understand : 

Well  I  thank  your  good  grace,  and  your  love  I  embrace, 

I  was  never  before  in  so  happy  a  case. 

16 


THE  CONJUEER  COUSENED.' 


SAMUEL  ROWLANDS. 


SHIFTING  knave  about  the  towne. 

Did  challenge  wondrous  skill : 

To  tell  men's  fortunes  and  good  haps, 

He  had  the  stairs  at  will. 
What  day  was  hest  to  trnvaile  on. 
Which  fit  to  chuse  a  wife  ; 
If  violent  or  naturall 
A  man  should  end  his  life ; 
Successc  of  any  suite  in  law, 
Which  parties  cause  prevailes  ; 

1  First  published  by  the  Percy  Society. 

17  P 


'The  Conjurer  Cousened. 


When  it  is  good  to  pick  ones  teeth, 

And  ill  to  pare  his  nailes. 

So  cunningly  he  plaid  the  knave, 

That  he  deluded  many, 

With  shifting,  base,  and  cousening  tricks; 

For  skill  he  had  not  any. 

Amongst  a  crew  of  simple  guls, 
That  plide  him  to  their  cost, 
A  butcher  comes  and  craves  his  help, 
•That  had  some  cattle  lost. 
Ten  groat es  he  gave  him  for  his  fee, 
And  he  to  conjure  goes, 
With  characters,  and  vocables, 
And  divers  antique  showes. 
The  butcher,  in  a  beastly  feare, 
Expected  spirits  still, 
And  wished  himselfe  within  his  shop, 
Some  sheepe  or  calfe  to  kill. 
At  length,  out  of  an  old  blinde  hole, 
Behinde  a  painted  cloth, 
A  deville  comes  with  roaring  voyce, 
Seeming  exceeding  wroth, 
With  squibs  and  crackers  round  about 
Wilde-fier  he  did  send ; 
Which,  swaggering  Bah1,  the  butchers  dog, 
So  highly  did  offend, 
That  he  'upon  the  devill  flies, 
And  shakes  his  homes  so  sore, 
Even  like  an  oxe,  most  terrible 
He  made  hobgoblin  roare. 
The  cunning  man  cries,  "  For  Gods  love  help, 
Unto  youre  mastiffe  call !" 
"  Fight  dog,  fight  devill !"  butcher  said, 
And  claps  his  hands  at  Ball. 
The  dog  most  cruelly  tore  his  flesh, 
The  devill  went  to  wracke, 

18 


The  Conjurer  Cousened. 


And  looked  like  u  tattered  rogue, 

With  ne're  a  rug  on's  buckc. 

••  i  live  me  my  money  hack  aguine, 

Thou  slave,"  the  butcher  said, 

"  Or  I  will  sec  your  devill's  heart, 

Before  he  can  be  laid  : 

He  gets  not  hack  ngaine  to  hell, 

Ere  I  my  niony  have 

And  I  will  have  some  intrest  too, 

Besides  mine  own  I  gave. 

Deliver  first  mine  owne  ten  groats. 

And  then  a  crowne  to  hoote : 

I  smell  your  devils  knavery  out, 

He  wants  a  cloven  foote." 

The  conjurer,  with  all  his  heart, 
The  niony  backe  repaies, 
And  gives  five  shillings  of  his  owne: 
To  whome  the  butcher  sales, 
"'  Farewell,  most  scurvy  conjuror. 
Thinke  on  my  valiant  deed, 
Which  has  done  more  then  English  George, 
That  made  the  dragon  bleed : 
He  and  his  horse,  the  story  tells, 
Did  hut  a  serpent  slay  : 
I  and  my  dog  the  devill  spoild, 
We  two  have  got  the  day." 


JOLLY  GOOD  ALE  AND   OLD. 


[FROM  GAMMER  GURTON'S  NEEDLE.] 

ACK  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare, 

Booth  foote  and  haride  go  colde ; 
But,  belly,  God  sencle  thee  good  ale  ynoughe, 
Whether  it  be  newe  or  old. 


I  can  not  eate  but  lytle  meat, 

My  stomacke  is  not  goode ; 
But,  sure,  I  think  that  I  can  dryuk, 

With  him  that  weares  a  hood. 
Thoughe  I  go  bare,  take  ye  no  care, 

I  am  nothinge  a-colde ; 
I  stuffe  my  skyn  so  full  within, 

Of  joly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Back  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare,  &c. 
20 


Jolly  Good  Ale  and  Old. 


I  !(»>•«•  no  rust.  Inil  a  mit-hruwn  tu>ti- 

And  a  rral>  lavdr  in  tin-  I'viv  ; 
A  lytlt'  bread  shall  do  me  stead  ; 

Much  bread  I  not  dc>\iv. 
No  froste  nor  snow,  no  winde,  I  trow, 

Can  hurt  me  if  I  wolde, 
I  am  so  wrapt,  and  throwly  lapt, 

Of  joly  good  ale  and  old. 
Back  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare,  «fec. 

And  Tyb,  my  wyfe,  that,  aa  her  lyfe, 

Loveth  well  good  ale  to  seeke, 
Full  ofte  drinkcs  shee,  tyll  ye  may  see 

The  teares  run  doun  her  cheeke  ; 
Then  doth  she  trowle1  to  mce  the  bowle, 

Even  as  a  malt  worme  shuld  ; 
And  sayth,  Sweethart,  I  took  my  part 

Of  this  joly  good  ale  and  oldc. 
Back  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare,  «kc. 

Now  let  them  drynke  tyll  they  nod  and  wynke 

Even  as  good  fellowes  shoulde  doe, 
They  shall  not  misse  to  have  the  blisse, 

Good  ale  doth  bringe  men  to ; 
And  all  poor  soules  that  have  scowred  bowles 

Or  have  them  lustily  trolde, 
God  gave  the  lyves  of  them  and  their  wyves, 

Whether  they  be  younge  or  olde. 
Back  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare, 

Both  foote  and  hande  go  colde ; 
But,  belly,  God  sende  thee  good  ale  ynoughe, 

Whether  it  be  newe  or  old. 

1  Pass. 


THE  LONPON  VACATION. 

SIR  WILLIAM  DAVENANT. 

OW  Town-wit  sayes  to  witty  friend, 
"  Transcribe  apace  all  thou  hast  pen'd 
For  I  in  journey  hold  it  fit, 
To  cry  thee  up  to  countrey-wit. 

Our  mules  are  come  !  dissolve  the  club  ! 

The  word,  till  term,  is,  '  Rub,  0  rub  !'" 

Now  gamster  poor,  in  cloak  of  stammel,1 
Mounted  on  steed,  as  slow  as  cammel, 
Battoone  of  crab  in  luckless  hand, 
(Which  serves  for  bilboe  and  for  wand) 
Early  in  morne  does  sneak  from  town, 
Least  landlord's  wife  should  seise  on  crown  : 
On  crown,  which  he  in  pouch  does  keep, 
When  day  is  done,  to  pay  for  sleep  ; 

1  Or  stamin,  a  woollen  cloth. 
22 


The  London  Vacation. 


Kill-  lit-   ill    julinirv    liolililit    <!<><•-  rat. 

llo-t  >|iic-i  liini  runir.  n\r~.  ••  Sir.  what  incut?' 


He  calls  for  room  and  down  lie  lies. 
Quoth  host.  "  Xo  supper,  sir?"    He  rries 


'The  London  Vacation. 


"  I  eate  no  supper ;  fling  on  rug  ! 

I'm  sick,  d'you  hear?    Yet,  bring  a  jug  ! " 

Now  damsel  young,  that  dwels  in  Cheap, 
'  For  very  joy  begins  to  leap  : 
Her  elbow  small  she  oft  does  rub, 
Tickled  with  hope  of  sillabub ; 
For  mother,  (who  does  gold  maintain 
On  thumbe,  and  keys  of  silver  chaine) 
In  snow  white  clout,  wraps  nook  of  pye, 
Fat  capon's  wing,  and  rabbit's  thigh, 
And  says  to  Hackney  coachman,  "  Go 
Take  shillings  six,  say  I,  or  no." 
"  Whither?"  says  he.     Quoth  she  "  Thy  teame 
Shall  drive  to  place  where  groweth  creame." 
But  husband  gray  now  comes  so  stall 
For  prentice  notch'd  he  straight  does  call : 
"  Where's  dame  ? "  quoth  he.     Quoth  son  of  shop, 
"  She's  gone  her  cake  in  milk  to  sop." 
"  Ho,  ho  !  to  Islington  !    Enough  ! 
Fetch  Job,  my  son,  and  our  dog  Ruffe ! 
For  there  in  pond,  through  mire  and  muck, 
We'll  cry  '  Hay,  duck  !  There,  Ruffe  !  Hay, duck  ! '"2 

Now  man  that  trusts,  with  weary  thighs, 
Seeks  garret  where  small  poet  lies : 
He  comes  to  Lane ;  finds  garret  shut ; 
Then,  not  with  knuckle,  but  with  foot, 
He  rudely  thrusts  ;  would  enter  dores  ; 
Though  poet  sleeps  not,  yet  he  snores  : 
Cit  chafes  like  beast  of  Libia  ;  then 
Sweares,  he  will  not  come  nor  send  agen ; 
From  little  lump  triangular 
Poor  poets'  sighs  are  heard  afar. 

a  The  ponds  near  Shepherd  and  Shepherdess  fields  were  used  on  Sundays  for  the 
cruel  diversion  of  duck-hunting  even  in  the  present  century.  In  these  fields 
stands  the  Britannia  Theatre,  amidst  a  new  and  dense  suburb,  where,  now,  on 
Sundays,  duck-hunting  gives  place  to  religious  services. 


The  London  Vacation. 


Quoth  he,  "   Do  nolile  number*  eh.. 

To  walk  on  feet,  that  have  no  shoes?" 

Then  he  doe-  \\i>h  \\itli  fervent  breath, 

And  as  his  la-t  ivi|iie-t  ere  death, 

Karh  ode  a  hoiid,  each  madrigal, 

A  lease  from  Haberdashers1  Hall, 

Or  that  he  had  protected  been 

At  court,  in  list  of  chamberlain  ; 

For  wights  near  thrones  care  not  an  ace 

For  Woodstreet  friend,  that  weildeth  mace, 

Courts  pay  no  scores  but  when  they  list, 

And  treasurer  still  has  cramp  in  fist. 

Then  forth  he  steales  ;  to  Globe  does  run  ; 

And  smiles,  and  vowes,  four  acts  are  done : 

Finis  to  bring  he  does  protest, 

Teh's  ev'ry  play'r  his  part  is  best. 

And  all  to  get  (as  poets  use) 

Some  coyne  in  pouche  to  solace  Muse. 

Now  wight  that  acts  on  stage  of  Hull, 
In  sk idlers'  bark  does  lie  at  Hull 
Which  he  for  pennies  two  docs  rig, 
All  day  on  Thames  to  bob  for  grig : 
Whilst  fencer  poor  does  by  him  stand, 
In  old  dung-lighter,  hook  in  hand ; 
Between  knees  rod,  with  canvas  crib, 
To  girdle  tied,  close  under  rib  ; 
Where  worms  are  put,  which  must  small  h'sh 
Betray  at  night  to  earthen  dish. 

Now  London's  chief,  on  saddle  new. 
Rides  into  fair  of  Bartholomew  ; 
He  twirles  his  chain,  and  looketh  big, 
As  if  to  fright  the  head  of  pig, 
That  gaping  lies  on  greasy  stall, 
Till  female  with  great  belly  call. 

25 


The  London  Vacation. 


Now  alderman  in  field  does  stand, 
With  foot  on  trig,  a  quoit  in  hand : 
"  I'm  seaven"  quoth  he  "  the  game  is  up  ! 
Nothing  I  pay,  and  yet  I  sup." 
To  alderman  quoth  neighbour  then, 
"  I  lost  but  mutton,  play  for  hen." 
But  wealthy  blade  cryes  out  "  At  rate 
Of  Kings,  should'st  play  !  let's  go  ;  tis  late." 

Now  lean  atturney,  that  his  cheese 
Ne'r  par'd,  nor  verses  took  for  fees  ; 
And  aged  proctor,  that  controules 
The  feats  of  punck  in  court  of  Paul's, 
Do  each  with  solemn  oath  agree 
To  meet  in  feilds  of  Finsbury  : 
With  loynes  in  canvas  bow-case  tyde, 
Where  arrows  stick  with  mickle  pride ; 
With  hats  pinn'd  up,  and  bow  in  hand 
All  day  most  fiercely  there  they  stand  ; 
Like  ghosts  of  Adam,  Bell,  and  Clymme : 
Sol  sets  for  fear  they'l  shoot  at  him. 

Now  Spynie,  Ralph,  and  Georgie  small, 
And  short  hayr'd  Stephen,  whay-fac'd  Paul, 
(Whose  times  are  out,  indentures  torn) 
Who  seaven  long  years  did  never  skorue, 
To  fetch  up  coales  for  maid  to  use, 
Wipe  mistresses',  and  children'?  shooes, 
Do  jump  for  joy  they  are  made  free ; 
Hire  meagre  steeds,  to  ride  and  see 
Their  parents  old  who  dwell  as  near, 
As  place  call'd  Peake  in  Derby-shire. 
There  they  alight,  old  croanes  are  milde ; 
Each  weeps  on  cragg  of  pretty  childe : 
They  portions  give,  trades  up  to  set, 
That  babes  may  live,  serve  God  and  cheat. 

26 


The  London  Vacation. 


Near  lioiisi'  nf  law  by  Temple  Bar. 
Now  man  of  man-  raiv-  nut  Imw  far 
Jn  stockings  blow  he  nmrchcth  on, 
With  velvet  cape  his  cloock  upon  ; 
In  girdle,  scrowles,  where  names  of  some, 
Arc  written  down,  whom  touch  of  thumbc, 
On  shoulder  left,  must  safe*  convoy, 
Anoying  wights  with  name  of  Roy. 
Poor  pris'ner's  friend  that  sees  the  touch, 
Cries  out  aloud,  "  I  thought  as  much." 

Now  vaulter  good,  and  dancing  lass, 
On  rope,  and  man  that  cries  "  Hey,  pass," 
And  tumbler  young  that  needs  but  stoop, 
Lay  head  to  heel  to  creep  through  hoopc ; 
And  man  in  chimney  hid  to  dress, 
Puppit  that  acts  our  old  queen  Bess, 
And  man  that  whilst  the  puppits  play, 
Through  nose  expendeth  what  they  say, 
And  man  that  does  in  chest  include 
Old  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  lewd : 
And  white  oate-eater  that  does  dwell ; 
In  stable  small,  at  sign  of  Bell : 
That  lift  up  hoofe,  to  show  the  prancks, 
Taught  by  magitian,  stiled  Banks ; 
And  ape,  led  captive  still  in  chaine, 
Till  he  renounce  the  Pope  and  Spaine. 
All  these  on  hoof  now  trudge  from  town, 
To  cheat  poor  turnep-eating  clown. 

Now  man  of  war  with  visage  red, 
Grows  chollerick  and  sweares  for  bread. 
He  sendeth  note  to  man  of  kin, 
But  man  leaves  word  "  I'm  not  within." 
He  meets  in  street  with  friend  cnll'd  Will : 
And  cryes  "  Old  rogue  !  what  living  still?" 

27 


The  London  Vacation. 


But  er'  that  street  they  quite  are  past, 

He  softly  asks  "  What  money  hast?" 

Quoth  friend  "  a  crown  ! "  he  cryes  "  Dear  heart  ? 

O  base,  no  more,  sweet,  lend  me  part ! " 

But  stay,  my  frighted  pen  is  fled ; 
Myself  through  fear  creep  xinder  bed  ; 
For  just  as  Muse  would  scribble  more, 
Fierce  city  dunne  did  rap  at  door. 


EPIGRAM. 

[FEOM  ROWLAND'S  EPIGRAMS.] 

HE  sanguine  dye  of  Lesbia's  painted  face 
Is  often  argued  for  a  doubtful  case. 
The  color's  hers  she  sweares :  not  so  some  thought  it, 
And  true  she  swears :  for  I  know  where  she  bought  it. 


23 


A  WEDDING.1 


SIR  JOHN  srcKLIXG. 


TELL  thee,  Dick,  where  I  have  heen  ; 
Where  I  the  rarest  things  liave  seen  : 

Oh  things  without  compare  ! 
Such  sights  again  cannot  he  found 
In  any  place  on  English  ground, 
Be  it  at  wake,  or  fair. 

At  Charing  Cross,  hard  by  the  way 
Where  we  (thou  know'st)  do  sell  our  hay. 
Tin-re  is  a  house  with  stairs  ;c 

1  The  occasion  of  this  poem  is  said  to  have  been  the  marriage  of  Lord  Broghill  to 
Lady  Margaret  Howard,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Suffolk. 

*  Suffolk  House  stood  close  to  the  foot  of  the  Haymarket.  Suffolk-street, 
Pall  Mall,  takes  its  name  from  it. 

29 


A  Wedding. 


And  there  did  I  see  coming;  down 


Such  folks  as  are  not  in  our  town ; 
Vorty  at  least,  in  pairs. 

30 


A  Wedding. 


tin    iv-t  din-  |>r>t'lrnt  tine 
(His  Ix'tinl  no  bignvr  dm'  ili.m  thine) 

WulkM  mi  In-fore  tin-  iv-t  : 
Our  landlord  looks  like  nothing  to  him  ; 
The  King  (<iod  Mess  him)  'twould  undo  him, 

Should  he  go  still  so  div-t. 

At  Course-a-park,  without  all  douht, 
He  should  have  first  In-en  taken  out 

By  all  the  maids  i'  th'  town  : 
Though  lusty  Roger  there  had  heen, 
Or  little  George  14)011  the  green, 

<  h-  Vincent  of  the  crown. 

But  wot  you  what?    The  youth  was  going 
To  make  an  end  of  all  his  woing  ; 

The  parson  for  him  staid  : 
Yet  hy  his  leave,  for  all  his  haste, 
He  did  not  so  much  wish  all  past, 

Perchance  as  did  the  maid. 

The  maid  (and  thereby  hangs  a  tale) 
For  such  a  maid  no  Whitson-ale 

Could  ever  yet  produce  ; 
No  grape  that's  kindly  ripe,  could  be 
So  round,  so  plump,  so  soft,  as  she, 

Nor  half  so  full  of  juyce. 

Her  finger  was  so  small,  the  ring 
Would  not  stay  on  which  they  did  bring  ; 

It  was  too  wide  a  peck  : 
And,  to  say  truth,  (for  out  it  must) 
It  look'd  like  the  great  collar  (just) 

About  our  young  colt's  neck. 

Her  feet  beneath  her  petticoat, 
Like  little  mice,  stole  in  and  out, 
As  if  they  fear'd  the  light  : 

31 


A  Wedding. 


But  oh  !  she  dances  such  a  way  ; 
No  sun  upon  an  Easter  day 
Is  half  so  fine  a  sight.3 

Her  cheeks  so  rare,  a  white  was  on, 
No  daisie  makes  comparison  ; 

(Who  sees  them  is  undone) 
For  streaks  of  red  were  mingled  there, 
Such  as  are  on  a  Cath'rine  pear, 

The  side  that's  next  the  Sun. 

Her  lips  were  red  ;  and  one  was  thin. 
Compar'd  to  that  was  next  her  chin  ; 

(Some  bee  had  stung  it  newly,) 
But,  Dick,  her  eyes  so  guard  her  face, 
I  durst  no  more  upon  them  gaze, 

Than  on  a  Sun  in  July. 

Her  mouth  so  small,  when  she  does  speak, 
Thou'd'st  swear  her  teeth  her  words  did  break, 

That  they  might  passage  get ; 
But  she  so  handl'd  still  the  matter, 
They  came  as  good  as  ours,  or  better, 

And  ai'e  not  spent  a  whit. 

Passion,  oh  me  !  how  I  run  on  ! 
There's  that  that  would  be  thought  upon, 

I  trow  besides  the  bride. 
The  business  of  the  kitchen's  great ; 
For  it  is  fit  that  men  should  eat, 

Xor  was  it  there  denied. 

Just  in  the  nick  the  Cook  knock'd  thrice 
And  all  the  waiters  in  a  trice 
His  summons  did  obey ; 

3  It  was  prettily  supposed  that  the  sun  danced  on  Easter-day. 
32 


A  Wedding. 


Kadi  scrvingman  with  dish  in  hand 
March'd  boldly  up  like  our  train'd-hand, 
Presented,  ami  away. 

When  all  the  meat  was  on  the  talilc, 
What  man  of  knife,  or  teeth,  was  ahlc 

To  stay  to  he  entreated  ? 
And  this  the  very  reason  was. 
Before  the  parson  could  say  grace 

The  company  was  seated. 

Now  hats  fly  off,  and  youths  carouse ; 
Healths  first  go  round,  and  then  the  house, 

The  hride's  came  thick  and  thick  ; 
And  when  'twas  nam'd  another's  health, 
Perhaps  he  made  it  hers  hy  stealth, 

(And  who  could  help  it,  Dick  ?) 

O'  th'  sudden,  up  they  rise  and  dance ; 
Then  sit  again,  and  sigh,  and  glance : 

Then  dance  again,  and  kiss : 
Thus  sev'ral  ways  the  time  did  pass, 
Till  ev'ry  woman  wish'd  her  place, 

And  ev'ry  man  wish'd  his. 

By  this  time,  all  were  stol'n  aside 
To  counsel  and  undress  the  bride  ; 

But  that  he  must  not  know : 
But  yel,  'twas  thought  he  guest  her  mind, 
And  did  not  mean  to  stay  behind 

Above  an  hour  or  so. 


OLD  HOBSON.1 


JOHN  MILTON. 


EKE  lies  old  Hobson ;  Death  hath  broke  his  girt, 
And  here,  alas  !  hath  laid  him  in  the  dirt ; 
Or  else  the  ways  being  foul,  twenty  to  one, 
He's  here  stuck  in  a  slough,  and  overthrown. 
'Twas  such  a  shifter,  that,  if  truth  were  known, 
Death  was  half  glad  when  he  bad  got  him  down  ; 
For  he  had,  any  time  this  ten  years  full, 
Dodged  with  him  betwixt  Cambridge  and  The  Bull. 
And  surely  Death  could  never  have  prevail'd, 
Had  not  his  weekly  course  of  carriage  fail'd ; 


1  On  the  University  carrier,  who  sickened  in  the  time  of  his  holiday ;  being  forbid 
to  go  to  London,  by  reason  of  the  plague.  It  was  he  who  established  "  Hobson's 
Choice." 

34 


Old  Hohson. 


But  lately  finding  him  so  long  at  Imnn-, 

Ami  thinking  now  his  journey's  end  was  come, 

Ami  that  he  had  tuVn  up  his  latest  inn, 

In  the  kind  office  of  a  ehaml>ri-lain 

Show'd  him  his  room  win-re  he  must  lodge  that  night, 

Pull'd  off  his  hoots,  and  took  away  the  light : 

It'  any  ask  for  him,  it  shall  he  said, 

"  Hobson  has  supp'd,  and 's  newly  gone  to  bed." 


it. 

HERE  licth  one,  who  did  most  truly  prove 

That  he  could  never  die  while  he  could  inuvc  : 

So  hung  his  destiny,  never  to  rot 

While  he  might  still  jog  on  and  keep  his  trot ; 

Made  of  sphere-metal,  never  to  decay 

L'ntil  his  revolution  was  at  stay. 

Time  numbers  motion,  yet  (without  a  crime 

'Gainst  old  truth)  motion  number'd  out  his  time : 

And,  like  an  engine  moved  with  wheel  and  weight, 

His  principles  being  ceased,  he  ended  straight. 

Rest,  that  gives  all  men  life,  gave  him  his  death, 

And  too  much  breathing  put  him  out  of  breath  : 

Nor  were  it  contradiction  to  affirm, 

Too  long  vacation  hasten'd  on  his  term. 

Merely  to  drive  the  time  away  he  sicken'd, 

Fainted,  and  died,  nor  would  with  ale  be  quicken'd ; 

"  Nay,"  quoth  he,  on  his  swooning  bed  out-stretch'd, 

"  If  I  mayn't  carry,  sure  I'll  ne'er  be  fetch'd, 

But  vow,  though  the  cross  doctors  all  stood  hearers, 

For  one  carrier  put  down  to  make  six  bearers." 

Ease  was  his  chief  disease  ;  and,  to  judge  right, 

He  died  for  heaviness  that  his  cart  went  light. 

His  leisure  told  him  that  his  time  was  come. 

And  lack  of  load  made  his  life  burdensome, 

That  even  to  his  last  breath  (there  be  that  say't ). 

As  he  were  pre>*'d  to  death,  lie  eried,  "  .More  weight;' 


Old  Hob  son. 


But,  had  his  doings  lasted  as  they  were, 

He  had  been  an  immortal  carrier. 

Obedient  to  the  moon  he  spent  his  date 

In  course  reciprocal,  and  had  his  fate 

Link'd  to  the  mutual  flowing  of  the  seas, 

Yet  (strange  to  think)  his  wain  was  his  increase  : 

His  letters  are  deliver'd  all  and  gone, 

Only  remains  this  superscription. 


EPIGEAM. 

[FROM  WESTMINSTER  DROLLERY.     1671.] 

WATCH  lost  in  a  tavern  !    That's  a  Crime ; 
Then  see  how  men  by  drinking  lose  their  time. 


The  Watch  kept  Time  ;  and  if  Time  will  away, 
I  see  no  reason  why  the  Watch  should  stay. 

You  say  the  Key  hung  out,  and  you  forgot  to  lock  it, 
Time  will  not  be  kept  pris'ner  in  a  Pocket. 

Henceforth,  if  you  will  keep  your  Watch,  this  do, 
Pocket  your  Watch,  and  watch  your  Pocket,  too. 


86 


AX  HOLY  SISTER. 


A  UK  A  II  AM    (  IIWLKY. 

II  K  that  can  sit  three  sermons  in  a  day. 
And  of  those  three  .-carce  bear  three  words  away 
She  that  can  rob  her  husband,  to  repair 
A  budget -pne.-t.  that  noses  a  Ions;  praver  : 

She  that  with  lamp-black  purities  her  shoes, 

And  with  half-eyes  and  Bible  softlv 


An  Holy  Sister. 


She  that  her  pockets  with  lay-gospel  stuffs, 

And  edifies  her  looks  with  little  ruff's ; 

She  that  loves  sermons  as  she  does  the  rest, 

Still  standing  stiff  that  longest  are  the  hest ; 

She  that  at  christenings  thirsteth  for  more  sack, 

And  draws  the  hroadest  handkerchief  for  cake  : 

She  that  sings  psalms  devoutly,  next  the  street, 

And  beats  her  maid  i'  th'  kitchen,  where  none  see't ; 

She  that  will  sit  in  shop  for  five  hours  space, 

And  register  the  sins  of  all  that  pass, 

Damn  at  first  sight,  and  proudly  dares  to  say, 

That  none  can  possibly  be  sav'd  but  they 

That  hang  religion  in  a  naked  ear, 

And  judge  men's  hearts  according  to  their  hair  ; 

That  could  afford  to  doubt,  who  wrote  best  sense, 

Moses,  or  Dod  on  the  commandments ; 

She  that  can  sigh,  and  cry  "  Queen  Elizabeth," 

Rail  at  the  Pope,  and  scratch-out  "  sudden  death :" 

And  for  all  this  can  give  no  reason  why : 

This  is  an  holy-sister,  verily. 


38 


A  LOVER'S  CHRONICLE. 

ABRAHAM   COWLKY. 

AUGARITA  first  possess'd, 

If  I  remember  well,  my  breast, 
Margarita  first  of  all ; 
But  wben  awbile  tbe  wanton  maid 
With  my  restless  heart  bad  play'd, 
Martha  took  tbe  flying  ball. 

Martha  soon  did  it  resign 
To  tbe  beauteous  Catharine. 
Beauteous  Catharine  <^ivc  j>la<v 

39 


A  Lover's  Chronicle. 


(Though  loth  and  angry  she  to  part 
With  the  possession  of  my  heart) 
To  Eliza's  conquering  face. 

Eliza  till  this  hour  might  reign, 
Had  she  not  evil  counsels  ta'en. 
Fundamental  laws  she  broke, 
And  still  new  favourites  she  chose, 
Till  up  in  arms  my  passions  rose, 
And  cast  away  her  yoke. 

Mary  then,  and  gentle  Anne, 
Both  to  reign  at  once  began ; 
Alternately  they  sway'd ; 
And  sometimes  Mary  was  the  fair, 
And  sometimes  Anne  the  crown  did  wear, 
And  sometimes  both  I'  obey'd. 

Another  Mary  then  arose, 

And  did  rigorous  laws  impose ; 
A  mighty  tyrant  she  ! 

Long,  alas  !  should  I  have  been 
Under  that  iron-scepter'd  queen, 
Had  not  Rebecca  set  me  free. 

When  fair  Rebecca  set  me  free, 
'Twas  then  a  golden  time  with  me : 
But  soon  those  pleasures  fled  ; 

For  the  gracious  princess  died. 

In  her  youth  and  beauty's  pride, 
And  Judith  reigned  in  her  stead. 

One  month,  three  days,  and  half  an  hour. 
Judith  held  the  sovereign  power : 
Wondrous  beautiful  her  face  ! 

But  so  weak  and  small  her  wit, 

That  she  to  govern  was  unfit, 
And  so  Susanna  took  her  place. 

JO 


A  Lover  s  Chronicle. 


But  whrii   l-al>rlla  fame. 

Ann'il  \\itli  a  rc-i>tl<-->  tlann-. 

And  tli'  artill'-ry  of  ln-r  \-\<-  : 
Whilst  -In-  proudly  inaivh'd  about, 
Greater  conquests  to  find  out, 

She  beat  out  Susan  hy  the  live. 


But  in  her  place  I  then 

Black-eyed  Bess,  her  viceroy-maid  ; 

To  whom  ensued  a  vacaix-y  : 
Thousand  worse  passions  then  posscss'd 
The  interregnum  of  my  breast  ; 

Bless  me  from  such  an  anarchy  ! 

Gentle  Henrietta  theu, 

And  a  third  Mary,  next  began  ; 

Then  Joan,  and  Jane,  and  Audria  ; 
And  then  a  pretty  Thomasine, 
And  then  another  Catharine, 

And  then  a  long  ft  cattera. 

But  should  I  now  to  you  relate, 

The  strength  and  riches  of  their  state  : 
The  powder,  patches,  and  the  pins, 
The  ribbons,  jewels,  and  the  rings, 
The  lace,  the  paint,  and  warlike  things, 
That  make  up  all  their  magazines  ; 

If  I  should  tell  the  politic  arts 
To  take  and  keep  men's  hearts  ; 
The  letters,  embassies,  and  spies, 
The  frowns,  and  smiles,  and  flatteries, 
The  quarrels,  tears,  and  perjuries 
(Numberless,  nameless,  mysteries  !) 

And  all  the  little  lime-twigs  laid, 
By  Machiavel  the  waiting-maid  : 
I  more  voluminous  should  grow 

41 


A  Lover's  Chronicle. 


(Chiefly  if  I  like  them  should  tell 
All  change  of  weathers  that  befell) 
Than  Holinshed  or  Stow. 

But  I  will  briefer  with  them  be, 

Siuce  few  of  them  were  long  with  me. 
An  higher  and  a  nobler  strain 

My  present  Emperess  does  claim, 

Heleonora,  first  o'  th'  name ; 

Whom  God  grant  long  to  reign  ! 


EPIGRAM. 

[FROM  DODSLEY'S  TOY  SHOP.] 

HIES  Sylvia  to  a  Reverend  Dean, 

"  What  reason  can  be  given, 
Since  marriage  is  a  holy  thing, 
That  there  are  none  in  Heaven  ?" 


"  There  are  no  women,"  he  reply'd, 
She  quick  returns  the  jest, — 

"  Women  there  are,  but  I'm  afraid 
They  cannot  find  a  Priest." 


A  FRAGMENT  OF  SCIENCE. 

SAMUEL  BUTLEB. 

LEARNED  man,1  whom  once  a  week 

A  hundred  virtuosos  seek, 

And  like  an  oracle  apply  to, 

T'  ask  questions,  and  admire,  and  lie  to ; 
Who  entertained  them  all  of  course, 
As  men  take  wives  for  better  or  worse, 
And  pass  them  all  for  men  of  parts 
Though  some  but  sceptics  in  their  hearts ; 
For  when  they're  cast  into  a  lump, 
Their  equality  must  jump  ; 

1  In  allusion,  probably,  to  the  meetings  held  at  the  house  of  Sir  Kenelm  Digby. 
The  satire  is  levelled  against  certain  members  of  the  Royal  Society. 

43 


A  Fragment  of  Science. 


As  metals  mixed,  the  rich  and  base 
Do  both  at  equal  values  pass. 

"With  these  the  ordinary  debate 
Was  after  news,  and  things  of  state, 
Which  way  the  dreadful  comet  went2 
In  sixty-four,  and  what  it  meant, 
What  nations  yet  are  to  bewail 
The  operations  of  its  tail  ? 

Why  currents  turn  in  seas  of  ice 
Some  thrice  a  day  and  some  but  twice ; 
And  why  the  tides  at  night  and  noon 
Court,  like  Caligula,  the  moon  ? 
If  grass  be  green,  or  snow  be  white, 
But  only  as  they  take  the  light  ? 
Whether  possessions  of  the  devil, 
Or  mere  temptations,  are  most  evil  ? 
What  is't  that  makes  all  fountains  still 
Within  the  earth  to  run  up  hill, 
But  on  the  outside  down  again, 
As  if  the  attempt  were  made  in  vain  ? 
Or  what's  the  strange  magnetic  cause 
The  steel,  or  Loadstone's  drawn  or  draws 
The  star,  the  needle,  which  the  stone 
Has  only  been  but  touched  upon? 
Whether  the  North-star's  influence 
With  both  does  hold  intelligence  ; 
(For  red-hot  iron,  held  towards  the  Pole 
Turns  of  itself  to' t,  when  'tis  cool :) 
What  makes  the  body  of  the  sun 
That  such  a  rapid  course  does  run 
To  draw  no  tail  behind  through  th'  air, 
As  comets  do,  when  they  appear, 
Which  other  planets  cannot  do 
Because  they  do  not  burn,  but  glow  ? 
Whether  the  moon  be  sea,  or  land, 
Or  charcoal ;  or  a  quench'd  fire-brand  ; 

2  The  comet  which  appeared  on  the  24th  of  December,  16C4. 
44 


A  fragment  of  Science. 


Or  if  the  dark  holes  that  appear 

Ai.'  milv  Imivs,  in.t  cities  then-  ? 

Whether  the  atmo.-phcre  turn  round 

Ami  keep  a  jn-t  pace  with  the  ground  ; 

Or  loiter  lazily  behind, 

And  clot;  the  air  with  gust*  of  wind? 

Or  whether  ( 're-cent-  in  the  Wane, 

(For  so  an  author  has  it  plain  ) 

J)o  burn  quite?  out.  or  wear  away 

Their  sniiHs  upon  the  rdgt«  of  day  ? 

Whether  the  sen  increase  or  wa-te, 

And  if  it  do,  how  long  'twill  last : 

Or  if  the  sun  approaches  near 

The  earth,  how  soon  it  will  be  here? 

These  were  the  learned  speculations 
And  all  their  constant  occupations 
To  measure  wind,  and  weigh  the  air, 
And  turn  a  circle  to  a  square, 
To  make  a  powder  of  the  sun, 
By  which  all  doctors  should  b'  undone ; 
To  find  the  north-west  passage  out 
Although  the  farthest  way  about ; 
If  chemists  from  a  rose's  ashes, 
('.in  raise  a  rose  itself,  in  gases? 
"Whether  the  line  of  incidence 
Rise  from  the  object,  or  the  sense  ? 
To  stew  the  elixir  in  a  bath 
Of  Hope,  Credulity,  and  Faith; 
To  explicate  by  subtle  hints 
The  grain  of  diamonds  and  flint<  : 
And,  in  the  braying  of  an  a-s 
Find  out  the  treble  and  the  bass ; 
If  mares  neigh  alto,  and  a  cow 
A  double  diapason  low. 


4 


HOLLAND. 


ANDREW  MARVEL. 


OLLAND,  that  scarce  deserves  the  name  of  land, 
As  but  the  off-scouring  of  the  British  sand ; 
And  so  much  earth  as  was  contributed 
By  English  pilots,  when  they  heaved  the  lead  ; 
Or  what  by  the  ocean's  slow  alluvion  fell, 
Of  shipwrecked  cockle  and  the  mussel-shell. 
Glad  then,  as  miners  who  have  found  the  ore, 
They,  with  mad  labour,  fish'd  the  land  to  shore ; 
And  dived  as  desperately  for  each  piece 
Of  earth,  as  if  it  had  been  of  ambergreece  ; 
Collecting  anxiously  small  loads  of  clay, 
Less  than  what  building  swallows  bear  away ; 
Or  than  those  pills  which  sordid  beetles  rowl, 
Transferring  into  them  their  dunghill  soul. 

46 


Holland. 


<liil  they  livet  with  gigantie  pile^ 
Thorough  tin-  eentre  their  new-catclicd  mil> 
Ami  to  tin-  -take  a  -truggling  rountry  humid. 
Where  harking  wave-  -till  hait  tin-  fun-ed  ground; 
Building  their  wat'i  y  liabel  far  inure  high 
To  catch  tin-  waves  than  those  to  scale  thr  -ky. 
^  et  still  his  claim  tin-  injured  ocean  laved. 
And  nft  at  leap-frog  o'er  their  steeples  played  ; 
AH  if  on  purpose  it  on  land  had  eomc 
To  show  them  what's  their  ,/<•//•/   A//,,-,-"///  ;' 
A  daily  dehiL,ri'  over  them  does  boil; 
And  earth  and  water  play  at  level-eu\l  : 
The  fish  oft-times  the  hnr»her  di>pu--e--ei|. 
And  sat,  not  as  a  meat,  but  as  a  gue-t  ; 
And  oft  the  Tritons,  and  the  sea-nymphs,  saw 
Whole  shoals  of  Dutch  served  up  for  eahillan  ;c 
Or,  as  they  over  the  new  level  ranged. 
For  pickled  herring,  pickled  Ileeren  changed. 
Nature,  it  seem'd,  asham'd  of  her  mistake, 
Would  throw  their  land  away  at  duck  and  drake : 
Therefore  necessity,  that  first  made  kings, 
Something  like  government  among  them  brings  ; 
For  as  with  pigmys,  who  best  kills  the  crane, 
Among  the  hungry  he  that  treasures  grain, 
Among  the  blind  the  one-eyed  blinkard  reigns, 
So  rules  among  the  drowned  he  that  drains. 
Not  who  first  sees  the  rising  sun,  commands  ; 
But  who  could  first  discern  the  rising  lands. 
Who  Invst  could  know  to  pump  an  earth  so  leak. 
Him  they  their  lord  and  country's  father  s|»eak. 
To  make  a  bank  was  a  great  plot  of  state  ; 
Invent  a  shovel,  and  be  a  magistrate. 

1  A  free  ocean ;    for  which  the  Dutch  jurists  were  then  contending  with  the 
ilish.  *  Fresh  cod. 


MR.  MILD-AND-SLY. 


LA  FONTAINE.       TRANSLATED  BY  ELIZUR  WRIGHT. 


STORY- WRITER  of  our  sort 
Historifies,  in  short, 

Of  one  that  may  be  reckoned 
A  Rodilard  the  Second, — 
The  Alexander  of  the  cats, 
The  Attila,  the  scourge  of  rats, 

Whose  fierce  and  whiskered  head 
Among  the  latter  spread, 
A  league  around,  its  dread  ; 
Who  seemed,  indeed,  determined 
The  world  should  be  unvermined. 
The  planks  with  props  more  false  than  slim, 
The  tempting  heaps  of  poisoned  meal, 

48 


Mr.  Mild-and-Sly. 


The  traps  of  win-  and  trap*  of  steel, 
Were  only  play,  compared  with  him. 
At  length.  >o  >adly  wen-  they  scared, 
The  rats  and  mice  no  longer  dared 
To  show  their  thievish  fur,-* 
Outside  their  hiding-places, 
Thus  slimming  all  pursuit  ;   win-feat 
Our  crafty  (ieiieral  Cat 
Contrived  to  hang  himself,  as  dead, 
Beside  the  wall,  with  downward  head, — 
Resisting  gravitation's  laws 
By  flinging  with  his  hinder  claws 
To  some  small  hit  of  string. 
The  rats  esteemed  the  thing 
A  judgment  for  some  naughty  deed, 
Sonic-  thievish  snatch, 
Or  ugly  scratch ; 

And  thought  their  foe  had  got  his  meed 
By  being  hung  indeed. 
With  hope  elated  all 
Of  laughing  at  his  funeral, 
They  thrust  their  noses  out  in  air ; 
And  then  to  show  their  heads  they  dare, 
Now  dodging  hack,  now  venturing  more. 
At  last,  upon  the  larder's  store 
They  fall  to  filching,  as  of  yore. 
A  scanty  feast  enjoyed  these  shallows ; 
Down  dropped  the  hung  one  from  his  gallows, 

And  of  the  hindmost  caught. 
"  Some  other  tricks  to  me  are  known," 
Said  he,  while  tearing  bone  from  bone, 

"  By  long  experience  taught ; 
The  point  is  settled,  free  from  doubt, 
That  from  your  holes  you  shall  come  out." 
His  threat  as  good  as  prophecy 
Was  proved  by  Mr.  Mild-and-sly  ; 
For,  putting  on  a  mealy  robe, 

49  u 


Mr.  Mild-and-Sly. 


He  squatted  in  an  open  tub, 

And  held  his  purring  and  his  breath  ; — 

Out  came  the  vermin  to  their  death. 

On  this  occasion,  one  old  stager, 
A  rat  as  gray  as  any  badger, 
Who  had  in  battle  lost  his  tail, 
Abstained  from  smelling  at  the  meal ; 
And  cried,  far  off,  "  Ah  !    General  Cat, 
I  much  suspect  a  heap  like  that. 
Your  meal  is  not  the  thing,  perhaps, 
For  one  who  knows  somewhat  of  traps  ; 
Should  you  a  sack  of  meal  become, 
I'd  let  you  be,  and  stay  at  home." 

Well  said,  I  think,  and  prudently, 
By  one  who  knew  distrust  to  be 
The  parent  of  security. 


"COME  TO  THE  MAY-POLK:" 

[FROM  WKSTMIXSTKU 


<  >\1  1-1.  l.a-st-  Mini  I  .MI!-,  -ret  leave  (if  your  Dads, 

And  away  to  the  May-polo  hie, 
For  every  fair  has  a  sweetheart  there, 

Ami  the  fiddler's  standing  l>y. 
For  Willy  shall  dance  with  Jane, 
And  Johnny  has  got  his  Joan, 
To  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it,  trip  it, 
Trip  it  up  and  down. 

Strike  up,  says  Wat  :  agreed,  says  Matt, 

And  I  prithee,  fiddler,  play  ; 
Content,  says  Hodge,  and  so  says  Madge, 

For  this  is  a  holiday. 
Then  every  lad  did  doff 

His  hat  unto  his  lass, 
And  every  girl  did  eurtsey,  curtsey, 

Curtsey  on  the  grass. 


,  says  Hal  :  aye,  aye,  says  Mall. 
We'll  lead  up  PatJri*gton'$  Poim-l  : 
No,  no,  says  Noll,  and  so  says  Doll, 
We'll  first  have  Bellinger's 


1  Mr.  W.  Chappell,  in  his  admirable  work  on  Popular  Mu<u-  of  the  Olilen  Time, 
states  that  the  words  of  this  song  are  still  in  print  in  Seven  Dials. 


Come  to  the  May -pole. 


Then  every  man  began 
To  foot  it  round  about, 


And  every  girl  did  jet  it,  jet  it, 
Jet  it  in  and  out. 


Come  to  the  May -pole. 


Yuii'ro  out,  says  Dick, — not  I,  says  Nick. 

Twas  the  fiddler  play'd  it  wrong; 
Ti»  true.  -:i\>  llii'Ji,  and  so  says  Sue, 

And  -ii  -:i\-  e\.TV  one. 
The  fiddler  then  began 

To  play  the  tune  again. 
And  every  girl  did  trip  it.  trip  it, 

Trip  it  to  the  men. 

Let's  kiss,  says  Jane, — content,  says  Nan, 

And  so  says  every  she  ; 
How  many?  says  ]iatt, — why  three,  says  Matt, 

For  that's  a  maiden's  fee. 
The  men,  instead  of  three, 

Did  give  them  half  a  score  ; 
The  maids  in  kindness,  kindness,  kindness, 

Gave  'em  as  many  more. 

Then,  after  an  hour,  they  went  to  a  bow'r, 

And  play'd  for  ale  and  cakes ; 
And  kisses  too, — until  they  were  due 

The  lasses  held  the  stakes. 
The  girls  did  then  begin 

To  quarrel  with  the  men, 
And  bade  them  take  their  kisses  back, 

And  give  them  their  own  again. 

Now  there  they  did  stay  the  whole  of  the  day, 

And  tired  the  fiddler  quite 
With  dancing  and  play,  without  any  pay, 

From  morning  until  night. 
They  told  the  fiddler  then 

They'd  pay  him  for  his  play, 
Then  each  a  twopence,  twopence,  twopence, 

Gave  him,  and  went  away. 

Good  night,  says  Harry, — good  night,  says  Mary ; 
Good  night,  says  Dolly  to  John  : 

53 


Come  to  the  May -pole. 


Good  night,  says  Sue,  to  her  sweetheart,  Hugh  ; 

Good  night,  says  every  one. 
Some  walk'd,  and  some  did  run ; 

Some  loiter'd  on  the  way, 
And  bound  themselves  by  kisses  twelve 

To  meet  the  next  holiday. 


EPIGEAM. 


SAMUEL  BUTLEH. 


HE  jolly  members  of  a  toping  club 

Like  pipe-staves  are,  but  hoop'd  into  a  tub ; 
And  in  a  close  confederacy  link 

For  nothing  else,  but  only  to  hold  drink. 


•<-. 


GOOD    WINE    A    GENTLEMAN. 


FHAXCESCO  REDI.      TRANSLATED  BY  LEIGH  HIM  . 


BOYS,  this  Tuscan  land  divine 

Hath  such  a  natural  talent  for  wine. 

We'll  fall,  we'll  fall 

On  the  barrels  and  all  ; 
We'll  fall  on  the  must,  we'll  fall  on  tin-  presses. 
We'll  make  the  boards  groan  with  our  grievous  caresses ; 
Xo  measure,  I  say  ;  no  order,  but  riot ; 
No  waiting  nor  cheating  :  we'll  drink  like  a  Sciot: 
Drink,  drink,  and  drink  when  you've  done ; 
Pledge  it  and  frisk  it,  every  one  ; 
Chirp  it  and  challenge  it,  swallow  it  down  : 
lie  that's  afraid  is  a  thief  and  a  down. 


Good  Wine  a  Gentleman. 


Good  wine's  a  gentleman  ; 

He  speedeth  digestion  all  he  can  ; 

No  headache  hath  he,  no  headache,  I  say, 

For  those  who  talked  with  him  yesterday. 


A  COAT  OF  AEMS. 

[FROM  WESTMINSTER  DROLLERY.] 

1  GREAT  pretender  to  gentility 
Came  to  a  herald  for  his  pedigree  : 
Beginning  there  to  swagger,  roar,  and  swear, 
Requir'd  to  know  what  arms  he  was  to  bear. 
The  herald,  knowing  what  he  was,  begun 
To  rumble  o'r  his  heraldry ;  which  done, 
Told  him  he  was  a  gentleman  of  note, 
And  that  he  had  a  very  glorious  coat. 
"  Prithee,  what  is't?"  quoth  he,  "  and  take  your  fees." 
"  Sir,"  says  the  herald,  "  'tis  two  rampant  trees, 
One  couchant ;  and,  to  give  it  further  scope, 
A  ladder  passant,  and  a  pendant  rope. 
And,  for  a  grace  unto  your  blue-coat  sleeves, 
There  is  a  bird  i'  th'  crest  that  strangles  thieves." 


56 


UK  N«)T   A   WIT. 

TOM  D'tTlFEY. 

FATHER,  says  Dick,  could  you  taste  the  delights 
That  myself  and  companions  enjoy  at  nights, 
\\Viv  you  once  but  to  hear  the  conundrums  and  quibbles, 
The  retorts  and  the  puns,  the  lampoons  and  the  libels, 
The  rhymes,  repetitions,  the  songs,  and  the  catches, 
The  whims  and  the  flirts,  and  the  smart  witty  touches, 
That  over  the  flask  we  most  lovingly  vent, 
You  would  think  a  whole  night  most  gloriously  spent ; 
And  wou'd  guess  by  our  wit,  and  the  course  that  we  follow, 
We  cou'd  all  be  no  less  than  the  sons  of  Apollo. 
Ah !  Dick,  says  the  father,  take  care,  I  intreat  ye, 
Thou'dst  better  be  hang'd  of  the  two  than  be  witty ; 
For  if  thou'rt  once  thought,  by  thy  studies  and  labours, 
To've  acquir'd  more  wit  than  the  rest  of  thy  neighbours, 
Thou'lt  be  sneer'd  at  by  fools,  and  be  fear'd  by  thy  betters, 
And  hunted  about  by  rogues,  bailiffs,  and  setters. 
Thy  lodging  must  be  in  some  nine-penny  garret, 
Thy  drink .  porter's  guzzle  much  oftener  than  claret ; 
Thy  coat  must  through  all  the  four  seasons  be  worn, 
Till  it's  robb'd  of  its  lap  like  a  sheep  newly  shorn  ; 
You  must  always  seem  pleasant,  that  is,  if  you  can, 
Keep  your  wits  ready  prim'd  for  a  flash  in  the  pan : 
When  your  pockets  are  empty,  your  brains  must  project 
Puns,  quibbles,  and  tales,  to  supply  the  defect ; 
That  whenever  you  meet  with  a  generous  chub, 
You  may  sneak  out  a  jest  in  the  room  of  your  club : 
For  a  wit  is  no  more  than  a  merry  Tom  Fool, 
A  satirical  scourger,  or  a  flattering  tool. 


SAINT  ANTHONY'S  SEKMON  TO  THE  FISHES. 


SANCTA  CLARA. 


AINT  ANTHONY  at  church 
Was  left  in  the  lurch, 
So  he  went  to  the  ditches 
And  preached  to  the  fishes. 
They  wriggled  their  tails, 
In  the  sun  glanced  their  scales. 


Saint  Anthony's  Sermon  to  the  Fishes. 


Tin-  r;ii-|>-.  with  their  spawn, 

Are  nil  thither  drawn  ; 

1  la\c  opened  their  jaws, 

Eager  for  each  clan 

No  sermon  beside 

ll.i-l  the  carps  so  edified. 

Sharp-snouted  ]iik«-. 

\\  In*  keep  fighting  like  tikes, 

Now  swam  up  harmonious 

To  hear  Saint  Antonius. 
No  sermon  beside 
Hud  the  pikes  so  edified. 

And  that  very  odd  fish, 

Who  loves  fast-days,  the  cod-fish, — 

The  stock-fish,  I  mean, — 

At  the  sermon  was  seen. 
No  sermon  beside 
Had  the  cods  so  edified. 


Good  eels  and  sturgeon, 
Which  aldermen  gorge  on, 
Went  out  of  their  way 
To  hear  preaching  that  day. 
No  sermon  beside 
Had  the  eels  so  edified. 


Crabs  and  turtles  also, 
Who  always  move  slow, 
Made  haste  from  the  bottom, 
As  if  the  devil  hat!  got  'em. 
No  sermon  beside 
Had  the  crabs  so  edified. 

59 


Saint  Anthony's  Sermon  to  the  Fishes. 


Fish  great  and  fish  small, 
Lords,  lackeys,  and  all, 
Each  looked  at  the  preacher 
Like  a  reasonable  creature. 
At  God's  word, 
They  Anthony  heard. 

The  sermon  now  ended, 
Each  turned  and  descended  ; 
The  pikes  went  on  stealing, 
The  eels  went  on  eeling. 

Much  delighted  were  they, 
But  preferred  the  old  way. 

The  crabs  are  backsliders, 
The  stock-fish  thick-siders, 
The  carps  are  sharp-set, 
All  the  sermon  forget. 

Much  delighted  were  they, 
But  preferred  the  old  way. 


60 


A  JOURNEY  TO  KXKTKR. 


JOHN  GAY. 


'WAS  on  flu-  iliiy  wlirn  c-ity  <l;niics  repair 
To  take  their  weekly  dose  of  Hide-Park  air  : 
When  forth  we  trot  :  no  carts  the  road  infest, 
For  still  on  Sundays  country  horses  rest. 
Thy  gardens,  Kensington,  we  leave  unseen  ; 
Through  Hamersmith  jog  on  to  Turnham-green  : 
That  Tunihani-green,  which  dainty  pigeons  fed, 
But  feeds  no  more  :  for  Solomon1  is  dead. 
Tliree  dusty  miles  reach  Brentford's  tedious  town, 
For  dirty  streets,  and  whitc-legg'd  chickens  known  : 
Thence  o'er  wide  shrubby  heaths,  and  furrow'd  lain--. 
We  come,  where  Thames  divides  the  meads  of  Stanes. 
We  ferry'd  o'er  ;  for  late  the  Winter's  flood 
Shook  her  frail  bridge,  and  tore  her  piles  of  wood. 
Prepar'd  for  war,  now  Bagshot  Heath  we  cross, 
Where  broken  gamesters  oft  repair  their  loss. 
At  Hartley  Row  the  foaming  bit  we  prest, 
While  the  fat  landlord  welcom'd  ev'ry  gue-t. 
Supper  was  ended,  healths  the  glasses  crownM. 
Our  host  extoll'd  his  wine  at  ev'ry  round, 
Relates  the  Justices'  late  meeting  there, 
How  many  bottles  drank,  and  what  their  cheer  : 
Wliat  lords  had  been  his  guests  in  days  of  yore, 
And  praised  their  wisdom  much,  their  drinking  more. 

1  A  man  famous  for  feeding  pigeons  at  Turnham-green. 
61 


A  Journey  to  Exeter. 


Let  travellers  the  morning  vigils  keep  : 
The  morning  rose,  but  we  lay  fast  asleep. 
Twelve  tedious  miles  we  bore  the  sultry  sun, 
And  Popham  Lane  was  scarce  in  sight  by  one : 
The  straggling  village  harbour'd  thieves  of  old, 
'Twas  here  the  stage-coach'd  lass  resign'd  her  gold  ; 
That  gold  which  had  in  London  purchas'd  gowns, 
And  sent  her  home  a  Belle  to  country  towns. 

Sutton  we  pass,  and  leave  her  spacious  down, 
And  with  the  setting  sun  reach  Stockbridge  town. 
O'er  our  parch'd  tongue  the  rich  metheglin  glides, 
And  the  red  dainty  trout  our  knife  divides. 
Sad  melancholy  ev'ry  visage  wears ; 
What,  no  election  come  in  seven  long  years ! 
Of  all  our  race  of  Mayors,  shall  Snow2  alone 
Be  by  Sir  Richard's  dedication  known  ? 
Our  streets  no  more  with  tides  of  ale  shall  float, 
Nor  cobblers  feast  three  years  upon  one  vote. 

Next  morn,  twelve  miles  led  o'er  th'  unbounded  plain, 
Where  the  cloak'd  shepherd  guides  his  fleecy  train. 
No  leafy  bow'rs  a  noon-day  shelter  lend, 
Nor  from  the  chilly  dews  at  night  defend : 
With  wondrous  art,  he  counts  the  straggling  flock, 
And  by  the  sun  informs  you  what's  a  clock, 
How  are  our  shepherds  fall'u  from  ancient  days  ! 
No  Amaryllis  chants  alternate  lays  ; 
From  her  no  list'ning  echoes  learn  to  sing, 
Nor  with  his  reed  the  jocund  valleys  ring. 

Here  sheep  the  pasture  hide,  there  harvests  bend, 
See  Sarum's  steeple  o'er  yon  hill  ascend ; 

2  Sir  Richard  Steele,  when  member  for  Stockbridge,  wrote  a  treatise  called  "  The 
Importance  of  Dunkirk  considered,"  and  dedicated  it  to  Mr.  John  Snow,  Bailiff  of 
Stockbridge. 

62 


A  'Journey  to  Exeter. 


Our  horses  faintly  trot  beneath  the  heat, 

And  our  keen  >ton>a<-hs  know  the  hour  to  cat.. 

Who  rim  foisake  thy  \valN,  and  not  admin' 

The  proud  cathedral,  and  the  lofty  spire? 

What  .sempstress  IMS  not  proved  thy  scissars  good '.' 

From  hcnco  first  cninr  th'  intriguing  riding-hood. 

Amid  three  hoarding-schools  well  atock'd  with  misses, 

Shall  three  knight-en-ants  starve  for  want  of  kisses  ?3 

O'er  the  green  turf4  the  miles  slide  swift  away, 
And  Blandford  ends  the  labours  of  the  day. 
The  morning  rose  ;  the  supper  reck'ning  paid, 
And  our  due  fees  discharged  to  man  and  maid, 
The  ready  ostler  near  the  stirrup  stands, 
And  as  we  mount,  our  half-pence  load  his  hands. 

Now  the  steep  hill  fair  Dorchester  o'erlooks, 
Border'd  by  meads,  and  wash'd  by  silver  brooks. 
Here  sleep  my  Iwo  companions,  eyes  supprest, 
And  propt  in  elbow  chairs  they  snoring  rest : 
I  weary  sit,  and  with  my  pencil  trace 
Their  painful  postures,  and  their  eyeless  face  ; 
Then  dedicate  each  glass  to  some  fair  name, 
And  on  the  sash  the  diamond  scrawls  my  flame. 
Now  o'er  true  Roman  way  our  horses  sound, 
Grscvius  would  kneel,  and  kiss  the  sacred  ground. 
On  either  side  low  fertile  vallies  lie, 
The  distant  prospects  tire  the  travelling  eye. 
Through  Bridport's  stony  lanes  our  rout  we  take, 
And  the  proud  steep  descend  to  Morcombe's  lake. 
As  herses  pass'd,  our  landlord  robb'd  the  pall, 
And  with  the  mournful  scutcheon  hung  his  hall. 
On  unadulteratc  wine  we  here  regale, 

*  Salisbury  was  the  head  quarters  of  cutlery  until  supplanted  by  Sheffield.  In 
the  old  copy  from  which  this  Epistle  to  the  Earl  of  Burlington  is  abridged,  it  is 
thought  worthy  of  attestation  in  a  note  that  Salisbury  actually  contained  "  three" 
ladies'  schools. 

4  Salisbury  plain. 

63 


A  'Journey  to  Exeter. 


And  strip  the  lobster  of  his  scarlet  mail. 


We  climb'd  the  hills,  when  starry  night  arose, 
And  Axminster  affords  a  kind  repose. 

64 


A  "Journey  to  KxvAv. 


The  maid  -uhdu'd  U  !.•<•-.  li,-r  trunk  unlock-. 
And  ui\e-  the  eleanly  uiil  of  douhi-  -moek-. 
Meantime-  mil-  .-I  i  irN  her  Ini-y  linger-  ml». 
While  the  -nap  lather-  uYr  tin-  foaming  tnli. 
\\  e  ri-e.  din-  heard-  demand  the  harher'-  art  ; 
A  female  enter-.  and  performs  the  part. 
The  weighty  golden  rliain  adorn-  her  mrk. 
And  tin  re  ^<ild  lini^s  her  skilful  huiid  U-ikfk  : 
Sniiiiiih  u'cr  our  chin  her  ea-v  tinkers  nio\e, 
Suft  a-  wlu-n  \  dm.-,  .struak'd  the  heard 


Nn\v  from  the  sttH-jt.  'niid-t  -eatt«-r'd  tann-  and  groves, 
Our  eve  through  Iloniton's  fair  valley  roves. 
Hehind  us  soon  the  hu-v  town  we  leave, 
^  here  finest  lace  industrious  lasses  weave. 
Now  swelling  clouds  roll'd  on  ;   the  rainy  load 
StivamM  down  our  hats,  and  sinoak'd  along  the  road; 
When  (O  blest  sight  !)  a  friendly  sign  we  spy'd, 
Our  spurs  are  slaeken'd  from  the  horse'*  side; 
For  sure  a  civil  host  the  house  command-. 
I  I  ion  whose  sign  this  courteous  motto  stand-. 
"  This  is  the  ancient  hand,  and  eke  the  pen  ; 
Jlere  is  for  horses,  hay.  and  meat  for  men." 
How  rhyme  would  flourish,  did  each  sun  of  fame 
Know  his  own  genius,  and  direct  his  flame! 
Then  he,  that  could  not  Kpic  flights  reheai  -e. 
Might  sweetly  mourn  in  Elegiac  verse. 
But  were  his  Muse  for  Elegy  unfit, 
Perhaps  a  Distich  might  not  strain  his  wit  ; 
If  Epigram  offend,  his  harmless  lines 
Might  in  gold  letters  swing  on  ale-hou.-e  -inn-. 
Then  Hobbinol  might  propagate  his  hays, 
And  Tuttle-tields  record  his  simple  lay-  : 
Where  rhymes  like  these  might  lure  the  nurses'  eyes. 
While  gaping  infants  squall  for  farthing  pies. 
••  Treat  here,  ye  shepherds  blithe,  your  damsel-  sweet. 
For  pies  and  cheesecakes  are  for  damsels  meet." 


A  Journey  to  Exeter. 


Then  Maurus  in  his  proper  sphere  might  shine, 
And  these  proud  numbers  grace  great  William's  sign  ;- 
"  This  is  the  man,  this  the  Nassovian,  whom 
I  named  the  brave  deliverer  to  come."5 

But  now  the  driving  gales  suspend  the  rain, 
We  mount  our  steeds,  and  Devon's  city  gain, 

Hail,  happy  native  land  ! but  I  forbear 

What  other  Counties  must  with  envy  hear. 

5  Blackmore's  "  Prince  Arthur,"  Book  V. 


BAD  AUTHORS. 


AI. i:\ANHKH    IMHT.. 


ITUT,  shut  the  door,  good  John  !  fatigued  I  said  ; 
Tie  up  the  knocker,  say  I'm  sick,  I'm  dead. 
The  dog-star  rages  !  nay,  'tis  past  a  douht. 
All  Bedlam,  or  Parnassus,  is  let  out: 
Fire  in  each  eye,  and  papers  in  each  hand, 
They  rave,  recite,  and  madden  round  the  land. 

What  walls  can  guard  me,  or  what  shades  can  hide '.' 
They  pierce  my  thickets,  through  my  grot  they  glide. 
By  land,  hy  water,  they  renew  the  charge ; 
They  stop  the  chariot,  and  they  hoard  the  barge. 
No  place  is  sacred,  not  the  church  is  free, 

67 


Bad  Authors. 


Ev'n  Sunday  shines  no  Sabbath  day  to  me : 

Then  from  the  mint  walks  forth  the  man  of  rhyme, 

Happy  !  to  catch  me — just  at  dinner  time. 

Is  there  a  parson,  much  bemus'd  in  beer, 
A  maudlin  poetess,  a  rhyming  peer, 
A  clerk,  foredoom'd  his  father's  soul  to  cross, 
Who  pens  a  stanza,  when  he  should  engross  ? 
Is  there,  who,  lock'd  from  ink  and  paper,  scrawls 
With  desperate  charcoal  round  his  darken'd  walls  ? 
All  fly  to  Twit'nam,  and  in  humble  strain 
Apply  to  me,  to  keep  them  mad  or  vain. 
Arthur,  whose  giddy  son  neglects  the  laws, 
Imputes  to  me  and  my  damn'd  works  the  cause  : 
Poor  Cornus  sees  his  frantic  wife  elope, 
And  curses  wit,  and  poetry,  and  Pope. 

Friend  to  my  life  !  (which  did  you  not  prolong, 
The  world  had  wanted  many  an  idle  song), 
What  drop  or  nostrum  can  this  plague  remove  ? 
Or  what  must  end  me,  a  fool's  wrath  or  love  ? 
A  dire  dilemma !  either  way  I'm  sped ; 
If  foes  they  write,  if  friends,  they  read  me  dead. 
Seiz'd  and  ty'd  down  to  judge,  how  wretched  I ! 
Who  can't  be  silent,  and  who  will  not  lie  : 
To  laugh,  were  want  of  goodness  and  of  grace  ; 
And  to  be  grave,  exceeds  all  power  of  face. 
I  sit  with  sad  civility ;  I  read 
With  honest  anguish,  and  an  aching  head ; 
And  drop  at  last,  but  in  unwilling  ears, 
This  saving  counsel,  "  Keep  your  piece  nine  years." 
"  Wme  years !"  cries  he,  who,  high  in  Drury  Lane, 
Lull'd  by  soft  zephyrs  through  the  broken  pane, 
Rhymes  e'er  he  wakes,  and  prints  before  term  ends, 
Oblig'd  by  hunger,  and  request  of  friends : 
"  The  piece,  you  think,  is  incorrect?    Why  take  it ; 
I'm  all  submission ;  what  you'd  have  it,  make  it." 


Bad  Authors. 


Throe  thing*  another's  mudi-M  \\MteH  IMHUU!, 
My  friendship,  and  a  prologue,  and  ten  pound. 

Pitholeon  sends  to  me :  "  You  know  his  grace  ; 
1  want  a  patron  :  a*k  him  for  a  place." 
Pitholeon  liln-ll'd  me — "  Hut  here's  a  letter 
Informs  you,  sir,  'twas  when  he  knew  no  bettor. 
Dare  you  refuse  him?  "Curll  invites  to  dine, 
He'll  write  a  journal,  or  he'll  turn  divine." 

Blogfl  me  !  a  packet. — "  'Tis  a  stranger  sues, 
A  virgin  tragedy,  an  orphan  muse." 
If  I  dislike  it,  "  furies,  death,  and  rage !" 
If  I  approve,  "  Commend  it  to  the  stage." 
There  (thank  my  stars),  my  whole  commission  ends, 
The  players  and  I  are  luckily  no  friends. 
Fir'd  that  the  house  reject  him,  "  'Sdeath !  I'll  print  it, 
And  shame  the  fools — Your  interest,  sir,  with  Lintot." 
"  Lintot,  dull  rogue  !  will  think  your  price  too  much  :" 
''  Not,  sir,  if  you  revise  it,  and  retouch." 
All  my  demurs  but  double  his  attacks : 
At  last  he  whispers,  "  Do ;  and  we  go  snacks." 
Glad  of  a  quarrel,  straight  I  clap  the  door; 
"  Sir,  let  me  see  your  works  and  you  no  more." 


WORMS. 

ALEXANDEB  POPE.1 

OW  much,  egregious  Moore,  are  we 

Deceiv'd  by  shows  and  forms  ? 
"Whate'er  we  think,  whate'er  we  see, 
All  human  race  are  worms. 


Man  is  a  very  worm  hy  birth, 

Proud  reptile,  vile  and  vain, 
Awhile  he  crawls  upon  the  earth, 

Then  shrinks  to  earth  again. 

That  woman  is  a  worm,  we  find, 

E'er  since  our  grannum's  evil ; 
She  first  convers'd  with  her  own  kind, 

That  ancient  worm,  the  Devil. 

The  fops  are  painted  butterflies, 

That  flutter  for  a  day  ; 
First  from  a  worm  they  took  their  rise, 

Then  in  a  worm  decay. 

The  flatterer  an  ear-wig  grows, 

Some  worms  suit  all  conditions  ; 
Misers  are  muck-worms  ;  silk-worms,  beaus, 

And  death-watches,  physicians. 

1  This  poem  was  addressed  "  To  the  Ingenious  Mr.  Moore,  Author  of  the  Cele- 
brated Worm-Powder." 

70 


Worms. 


-That  statesman  hu\<-  ;i  worm,  i- 

\>\  all  their  winding  play; 
Tln-ii  fun-ciciK-c  is  a  worm  within, 
Thut  gnaw*  thrm  night  and  day. 

Ah,  Moore  !  thy  skill  were  well  employ'd, 

And  greater  gain  would  ri-r 
If  thou  eould'.st  make  the  courtier  void 

The  worm  that  never  dies. 

Thou  only  canst  our  fate  adjourn 
Some  few  short  years,  no  more  ; 

E'en  Button's  wits  to  worms  shall  turn, 
Who  maggots  were  before. 


71 


THE  SPLENDID  SHILLING. 

JOHN  PHILIPS. 

APPY  the  man  who,  void  of  cares  and  strife, 
In  silken  or  in  leathern  purse  retains 
A  Splendid  Shilling  !  he  nor  hears  with  pain 
New  oysters  cried,  nor  sighs  for  cheerful  ale ; 
But  with  his  friends,  when  nightly  mists  arise, 
To  Juniper's  Magpie,  or  Town-Hall l  repairs ; 
Where,  mindful  of  the  nymph,  whose  wanton  eye 
Transfix'd  his  soul,  and  kindled  amorous  flames, 
Chloe,  or  Phillis ;  he  each  circling  glass 
Wisheth  her  health,  and  joy,  and  equal  love. 
Meanwhile,  he  smokes,  and  laughs  at  merry  tale 
Or  pun  ambiguous,  or  conundrum  quaint : 
But  I,  whom  griping  penury  surrounds, 
And  hunger,  sure  attendant  upon  want, 
With  scanty  offals  and  small  acid  tiff 
(Wretched  repast !)  my  meagre  corpse  sustain, 
Then  solitary  walk,  or  doze  at  home 
In  garret  vile,  and  with  a  warming  puff 
Ilegale  chill'd  fingers,  or  from  tube  as  black 
As  winter-chimney  or  well-polish'd  jet 
Exhale  mundungus,  ill  perfuming  scent ! 
Not  blacker  tube,  nor  of  a  shorter  size, 
Smokes  Cambro-Briton  (versed  in  pedigree. 
Spiling  from  Cadwallader  and  Arthur,  kings 

1  Two  noted  alehouses  at  Oxford  in  1700. 


T/ie  Splendid  Shilling. 


Full  famuu-  in  niiiiantii-  lair)  when  li«- 


O'er  many  a  miii'iTy  liill  ami  harrcn  rliH'. 
of  famed  Ccstriaii 


The  Splendid  Shilling. 


High  overshadowing  rides,  with  a  design 

To  vend  his  wares,  or  at  th'  Arvonian  mart 

Or  Maridunum,  or  the  ancient  town 

Ycleped  Brechinia,  or  where  Vaga's  stream 

Encircles  Ariconium,  fruitful  soil ! 

Whence  flow  nectareous  wines,  that  well  may  vie 

With  Massic,  Setin,  or  renown'd  Falern. 

Thus,  while  my  joyless  minutes  tedious  flow, 
With  looks  demure  and  silent  pace,  a  Dun, 
Horrible  monster !  hated  by  gods  and  men, 
To  my  aerial  citadel  ascends. 
With  vocal  heel  thrice  thundering  at  my  gate, 
With  hideous  accent  thrice  he  calls.     I  know 
The  voice  ill-boding,  and  the  solemn  sound. 
What  should  I  do,  or  whither  turn?    Amazed, 
Confounded,  to  the  dark  recess  I  fly 
Of  wood-hole.     Straight  my  bristling  hairs  erect 
Through  sudden  fear,  a  chilly  sweat  bedews 
My  shuddering  limbs,  and  (wonderful  to  tell !) 
My  tongue  forgets  her  faculty  of  speech  ; 
So  horrible  he  seems  !    His  faded  brow, 
Intrench'd  with  many  a  frown,  and  conic  beard. 
And  spreading  band,  admired  by  modern  saints, 
Disastrous  acts  forbode.     In  his  right  hand 
Long  scrolls  of  paper  solemnly  he  waves, 
With  characters  and  figures  dire  inscribed, 
Grievous  to  mortal  eyes  :  (ye  Gods  !  avert 
Such  plagues  from  righteous  men  !)    Behind  him  stalks 
Another  monster  not  unlike  himself, 
Sullen  of  aspect,  by  the  vulgar  call'd 
A  Catchpole,  whose  polluted  hands  the  gods 
With  force  incredible  and  magic  charms 
Erst  have  endued :  if  he  his  ample  palm 
Should  haply  on  ill-fated  shoulder  lay 
Of  debtor,  straight  his  body,  to  the  touch 
Obsequious,  (as  whilom  knights  were  wont) 
To  some  enchanted  castle  is  convey'd, 

7-1 


-The  Splendid  Shilling. 


Where  irati-  impregnable  anil  cociciw  chain- 
In  durance  -diet  detain  him,  till,  in  form 
Of  Money.   Palla-  -et-  tin-  eaptixe  five. 

Me  ware,  ye  Debtor- !  \\hen  ye  walk.  hev\.u.  . 
Me  dnOMpeot;   oft  with  in-idiou>  ken 
Tin-  caitiff  eyes  your  stops  aloof,  and  oft 
Lies  perdue  in  a  nook  or  gloomy  cave. 
Prompt  to  enchant  >ome  inadvertent  wretch 
With  his  unhallow'd  touch.      So.  poet-  sing, 
(irimalkin,  t<»  domestic  vermin  sworn 
An  everlasting  foe,  with  watchful  eye 
Lies  nightly  brooding  o'er  a  clunky  gap, 
Protending  her  fell  claws,  to  thoughtless  mice 
Sure  ruin  ;  so  her  discmbowell'd  web 
Arachne  in  a  hall  or  kitchen  spreads, 
( >li\  ious  to  vagrant  flies  ;  she  secret  stands 
Within  her  woven  cell ;  the  humming  prey, 
Kegardless  of  their  fate,  rush  on  the  toils 
Inextricable,  nor  will  aught  avail 
Their  arts  or  arms,  or  shapes  of  lovely  hue : 
The  wasp  insidious  and  the  buzzing  drone, 
And  butterfly,  proud  of  expanded  wings 
Distinct  with  gold,  entangled  in  her  snares, 
Useless  resistance  make :  with  eager  strides 
She  towering  flies  to  her  expected  spoils  ; 
Then,  with  envenom'd  jaws  the  vital  blood 
Drinks  of  reluctant  foes,  and  to  her  cave 
Their  bulky  carcasses  triumphant  drags. 

So  pass  my  days;   but  when  nocturnal  shade- 
Tins  world  envelope,  and  th'  inclement  air 
Persuades  men  to  repel  lienumming  frosts 
With  pleasant  wines,  and  crackling  blaze  of  wood  : 
Me.  lonely  sitting,  nor  the  glimmering  light 
Of  make-weight  candle,  nor  the  j«vou>  talk 
Of  loving  friend  delights;  distress'd,  forlorn. 
Amidst  the  horrors  of  the  tedious  night 
Darkling  I  sigh,  and  feed  with  dismal  thought- 


'The  Splendid  Shilling. 


My  anxious  mind  ;  or  sometimes  mournful  verso 

Indite,  and  sing  of  groves  and  myrtle  shades, 

Or  desperate  lady  near  a  purling  stream, 

Or  lover  pendent  on  a  willow-tree. 

Meanwhile,  I  labour  with  eternal  drought, 

And  restless  wish,  and  rave ;  my  parched  throat 

Finds  no  relief,  nor  heavy  eyes  repose ; 

But,  if  a  slumber  haply  does  invade 

My  weary  limbs,  my  fancy  's  still  awake, 

Thoughtful  of  drink,  and  eager,  in  a  dream 

Tipples  imaginary  pots  of  ale 

In  vain  :  awake,  I  find  the  settled  thirst 

Still  gnawing,  and  the  pleasant  phantom  curse. 


THE  WATER  (THE. 


WI  1.1. 1  AM    IIAIUUSOX. 


ISS  Molly,  a  funiM  Toast,  was  fair  ami  vouiig. 
Had  wealth  ami  charms — hut  then  she  hail  a  tongue 
From  mom  to  night  th'  eternal  lanim  run. 
Which  often  lost  those  hearts  her  eyes  had  won. 


Sir  John  was  smitten,  and  confess'd  his  flame, 
Sigh'd  out  the  usual  time,  then  wed  the  dame  : 
I'ossess'd,  he  thought,  of  ev'ry  joy  of  life  : 
Hut  his  dear  Molly  prov'd  a  very  wife. 
Excess  of  fondness  did  in  time  decline  : 
Madam  lov'd  money,  and  the  knight  lov'd  wine; 
Frum  whence  some  petty  discord  would  ari.-e. 
As  "  You'i*o  a  fool  !'*  and,  "  You  are  mighty  wi-r  !" 


'The  Water  Cure. 


Though  he,  and  all  the  world,  allow'd  her  wit, 
Her  voice  was  shrill,  and  rather  loud  than  sweet ; 
When  she  began,  for  hat  and  sword  he'd  call, 
Then,  after  a  faint  kiss,  cry,  "  B'ye,  dear  Moll : 
Supper  and  friends  expect  me  at  the  Rose." 
"  And  what,  Sir  John,  you'll  get  your  usual  dose  ! 
Go,  stink  of  smoke,  and  guzzle  nasty  wine : 
Sure,  never  virtuous  love  was  us'd  like  mine  ! " 

Oft  as  the  watchful  bellman  march'd  his  round, 
At  a  fresh  bottle,  gay  Sir  John  he  found. 
By  four  the  knight  would  get  his  business  done, 
And  only  then  reel'd  oif — because  alone. 
Full  well  he  knew  the  dreadful  storm  to  come  ; 
But  arm'd  with  Bourdeaux,  he  durst  venture  home. 

My  lady  with  her  tongue  was  still  prepar'd, 
She  rattled  loud,  and  he,  impatient,  heard : 
"  'Tis  a  fine  hour  !  in  a  sweet  pickle  made  ! 
And  this,  Sir  John,  is  every  day  the  trade. 
Here  I  sit  moping  all  the  live  long  night, 
Devour' d  with  spleen,  and  stranger  to  delight ; 
'Till  morn  sends  staggering  home  a  drunken  beast, 
Resolv'd  to  break  my  heart  as  well  as  rest." 

"  Hey !  hoop  !  d'ye  hear  my  curs'd  obstreperous  spouse  ? 
What,  can't  ye  find  one  bed  about  the  house  ? 
Will  that. perpetual  clack  lie  never  still? 
That  rival  to  the  softness  of  a  mill ! 
Some  couch  and  distant  room  must  be  my  choice, 
Where  I  may  sleep  uncurs'd  with  wife  and  noise." 

Long  this  uncomfortable  life  they  led, 
With  snarling  meals,  and  each  a  separate  bed. 
To  an  old  uncle  oft  she  would  complain, 
Beg  his  advice,  and  scarce  from  tears  refrain. 

78 


Water  Cure. 


Old  WUewood  Miiok'd  llic  matter  i\-  it  wa* ; 
••  Cheer  up,"  cry'd  he,  "  ami  I'll  remove  tin-  «-aii-e. 
\  \\Minrriiii-  >prinu  within  my  garden  tlo\\~. 
Of  sovereign  \iitne.  chiefly  tu  coni|i08G 
Domestic  jars,  and  niatriinutiial  strife; 
'I'lii-  best  t-lixir  t'  appease  man  ami  wife: 
Strange  are  th'  effects  ;   tin-  qualities  ilivim- ; 
'Tis  water  call'd,  Init  wm-tli  it-  weight  in  wine. 
If  in  his  sullen  airs  Sir  .lulm  should  come. 
Three  spoonfuls  take,  hold  in  your  month — then  mum  ; 
Smile,  and  look  pleas'd.  when  he  shall  ra^e  and  -cold  ; 
Still  in  your  mouth  the  healing  cordial  hold ! 
One  month  this  sympathetic  medVin  try'd, 
He'll  grow  a  lover;  you  a  happy  hride. 
But,  dearest  niece,  keep  this  grand  secret  close. 
Or  every  prattling  hussy '11  beg  a  dose." 

A  water  bottle's  brought  for  her  relief : 
Not  Nantz  could  sooner  ease  the  lady's  grief. 
Her  busy  thoughts  are  on  the  trial  bent, 
And  female  like,  impatient  for  th'  event. 

The  bonny  knight  reels  home  exceeding  clear, 
Prepar'd  for  clamour  and  domestic  war ; 
Entering,  he  cries,  "  Hey  !  whore's  our  thundeivr  fled  ! 
Xo  hurricane  !  Betty,  's  your  lady  dead  ?" 
.Madam,  aside,  an  ample  mouthful  take>. 
C'urt'sies,  looks  kind,  but  not  a  word  she  speak- : 
Wondering,  he  stares,  scarcely  his  eyes  Keliev'd, 
But  found  his  ears  agreeably  deceiv'd. 
'•  Why  how  now,  Molly,  what's  the  crotchet  now?" 
She  smiles,  and  answers  only  with  a  bow. 
Then,  clasping  her  about.  ••  Why  let  me  die  ! 
These  night  cloaths,  Moll,  become  thee  mightily  !" 
With  that  he  sigh'd.  her  hand  began  to  \>: 
And  I'.ettx  call>  her  lady  to  undre». 


The  Water  Cure. 


For  many  days  these  fond  endearments  past, 
The  reconciling  bottle  fails  at  last ; 
'T\vas  used  and  gone.     Then  midnight  storms  arose, 
And  looks  and  words  the  union  discompose. 
Her  coach  is  order'd,  and  post  haste  she  flies, 
To  beg  her  uncle  for  some  fresh  supplies  ; 
Transported  does  the  strange  effects  relate, 
Her  knight's  conversion,  and  her  happy  state. 

"  Why  niece,"  says  he,  "  I  pr'ythee  apprehend, 
The  water's  water — be  thyself  the  friend. 
Such  beauty  would  the  coldest  husband  warm  ; 
But  your  provoking  tongue  undoes  the  charm  : 
Be  silent,  and  complying;  you'll  soon  find, 
Sir  John  without  a  med'cine  will  be  kind." 


80 


THE  TINKER  AND  GLAXIKIJ. 


\\II.I.IAM    HARHISOX. 


WO  thirsty  souls  met  on  a  sultry  day, 

One  Glazier  Dick,  the  other  Tom  the  Tinker ; 
Both  with  light  purses,  but  with  spirits  gay ; 

And  hard  it  were  to  name  the  sturdiest  drinker. 
Their  ale  they  quatf'd ; 
And,  as  they  swigg'd  the  nappy, 
They  both  agreed,  'tis  said, 
That  trade  was  wond'rous  dead. 
They  jok'd,  sung,  laugh'd. 
And  were  completely  happy. 

81  M 


The  Tinker  and  Glacier. 


The  Landlord's  eye,  bright  as  his  sparkling  ale, 
Glisten'd  to  see  them  the  brown  pitcher  hug ; 

For  ev'ry  jest,  and  song,  and  merry  tale, 

Had  this  blithe  ending — "  Bring  us  t'other  mug." 

Now  Dick  the  Glazier  feels  his  bosom  burn, 
To  do  his  friend,  Tom  Tinker,  a  good  turn ; 
And,  where  the  heart  to  friendship  feels  inclin'd, 
Occasion  seldom  loiters  long  behind. 

The  kettle,  gaily  singing  on  the  fire, 
Gives  Dick  a  hint,  just  to  his  heart's  desire  : 
And,  while  to  draw  more  ale  the  Landlord  goes, 
Dick,  in  the  ashes,  ah1  the  water  throws ; 
Then  puts  the  kettle  on  the  fire  again, 
And  at  the  Tinker  winks, 
As  "  Trade's  success  ! "  he  drinks, 
Nor  doubts  the  wish'd  success  Tom  will  obtain. 
Our  Landlord  ne'er  could  such  a  toast  withstand ; 
So,  giving  each  kind  customer  a  hand, 
His  friendship,  too,  display'd, 
And  drank — "  Success  to  trade  !" 

But,  O  how  pleasure  vanish'd  from  his  eye, 

How  long  and  rueful  his  round  visage  grew, 
Soon  as  he  saw  the  kettle's  bottom  fly, 
Solder  the  only  fluid  he  could  view ! 
He  rav'd,  he  caper'd,  and  he  swore, 
And  cursed  the  kettle's  body  o'er  and  o'er, 
"  Come  !  come  !"  says  Dick,  "  fetch  us,  my  friend,  more  ale: 

All  trades,  you  know,  must  live : 
Let's  drink — '  May  trade  with  none  of  us,  e'er  fail ! ' 

The  job  to  Tom,  then,  give  ; 
And,  for  the  ale  he  drinks,  our  lad  of  mettle, 
Take  my  word  for  it,  soon  will  mend  your  kettle." 
The  Landlord  yields ;  but  hopes  'tis  no  offence, 
To  curse  the  trade,  that  thrives  at  his  expence. 

82 


The  Tinker  and  Glazier. 


Tom  iiiiilrriiiko  tin- j..l»:  to  work  heroes; 
And  just  concludes  it,  with  tin-  ev'ning'g  close. 
Souls  so  congenial  had  friends  Tom  and  I>i.  k. 
Karh  might  l>e  fairly  cull'd  a  loving  broth,  i  : 
Thought  Tom,  to  serve  my  friend  1  know  a  trick. 
And  one  good  turn  in  truth  de-serves  another! 

Out  now  he  slily  slips, 

I  '-in  not  a  word  he  said. 

The  plot  was  in  his  head, 

And  off  he  nimbly  trips. 

Swift  to  the  neighb'ring  church  his  way  he  takes ; 

Nor  in  the  dark, 

Misses  his  mark, 
But  ev'ry  pane  of  glass  he  quickly  breaks. 

Back  as  he  goes, 

His  bosom  glows, 

To  think  how  great  will  be  his  friend  Dick's  joy, 
At  getting  so  much  excellent  employ. 
Retum'd,  he  beckoning,  draws  his  friend  aside, 

Importance  in  his  face, 
And  to  Dick's  ear  his  mouth  applied, 
Thus  briefly  states  the  case. — 
"  Dick  !  I  may  give  you  joy,  you're  a  made  man  ; 
I've  done  your  business  most  complete,  my  friend : 
I'm  oft'! — the  devil  may  catch  me,  if  he  can, 

Each  window  of  the  church  you've  got  to  mend  ; 
Ingratitude's  worst  curse  my  head  befall, 
If,  for  your  sake,  I  have  not  broke  them  all ! " 

Tom  with  surprize,  sees  Dick  turn  pole, 
Who  deeply  sighs — "  O,  la  ! " 
Then  drops  his  under  jaw, 
And  all  his  pow'rs  of  utt'rance  fail : 
While  horror  in  his  ghastly  face, 
And  bursting  eye-bolls,  Tom  can  trace ; 
Whose  sympathetic  muscles,  just  and  true, 

83 


'The  Tinker  and  Glazier. 


Share  with  his  heart, 
Dick's  unknown  smart, 
And  two  such  phizzes  ne'er  met  mortal  view. 
At  length,  friend  Dick  his  speech  regain'd, 
And  soon  the  mystery  explain'd — 

"  You  have,  indeed,  my  business  done  ! 

And  I,  as  well  as  you,  must  run  : 

For  let  me  act  the  best  I  can, 

Tom  !  Tom  !  I  am  a  ruin'd  man. 

Zounds  !  zounds  !  this  piece  of  friendship  costs  me  dear, 
I  always  mend  church  windows — by  the  year  !  " 


EPIGBAM. 


MATTHEW  PRIOR. 


YES,  every  poet  is  a  fool, 

By  demonstration  Ned  can  show  it 
Happy,  could  Ned's  inverted  rule 

Prove  every  fool  to  be  a  poet. 


81 


Till-:  THIEF  AND  CORDELIER. 


MAITllKW    I'HKtlt. 


HO  has  e'er  been  at  Paris  mu>t  iiml-  know  the  frrevt, 
The  fatal  retreat  of  th'  unfortunate  brave. 
\\  lien?  honour  and  justice  most  oddly  contribute 
To  ea-e  heroes'  pains  hy  a  halter  and  gibl»et. 


There  death  breaks  the  shackles  which  force  had  put  on, 
And  the  hangman  completes  what  the  judge  but  begun  : 
There  the  Squire  of  the  Pad  and  the  Knight  of  the  IV-t. 
Find  their  pains  no  more  balk'd,  and  their  hoj>e.s  no  more  cross'd. 

Great  claims  are  there  made,  and  great  sn-ivts  .-ire  known, 
And  the  king,  and  the  law,  and  the  thief,  has  his  own  ; 
Hut  my  hearers  cry  out,  "  What  a  dem-e  il.i-t  thoii  ail? 
Cut  iitf  thy  ivHi-i-fion-.  and  give  us  thy  tale." 

IB 


The  Thief  and  Cordelier. 


'Twas  there  then,  in  civil  respect  to  harsh  laws, 
And  for  want  of  false  witness  to  back  a  bad  cause, 
A  Norman,  though  late,  was  obliged  to  appear, 
And  who  to  assist,  but  a  grave  Cordelier  ? 

The  Squire,  whose  good  grace  was  to  open  the  scene, 
Seem'd  not  in  great  haste  that  the  show  should  begin  ; 
Now  fitted  the  halter,  now  traversed  the  cart, 
And  often  took  leave,  but  was  loath  to  depart. 

"  What  frightens  you  thus,  my  good  son?"  says  the  priest, 
"  You  murder'd,  are  sorry,  and  have  been  confess'd." 
"  O  Father !  my  sorrow  will  scarce  save  my  bacon, 
For  'twas  not  that  I  murder'd,  but  that  I  was  taken." 

"  Pugh  !  pr'ythee  ne'er  trouble  thy  head  with  such  fancies  ; 
Rely  on  the  aid  you  shall  have  from  Saint  Francis ; 
If  the  money  you  promised  be  brought  to  the  chest, 
You  have  only  to  die ;  let  the  Church  do  the  rest. 

"And  what  will  folks  say  if  they  see  you  afraid? 
It  reflects  upon  me,  as  I  knew  not  my  trade : 
Courage,  friend,  for  to-day  is  your  period  of  sorrow, 
And  things  will  go  better,  believe  me,  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow ! "  our  hero  replied,  in  a  fright, 
"  He  that's  hang'd  before  noon,  ought  to  think  of  to-night." 
"  Tell  your  beads,"  quoth  the  priest,  "  and  be  fairly  truss'd  up, 
For  you  surely  to-night  shall  in  Paradise  sup." 

"  Alas!"  quoth  the  Squire,  "  howe'er  sumptuous  the  treat, 
Parbleu,  I  shall  have  little  stomach  to  eat ; 
I  should  therefore  esteem  it  great  favour  and  grace, 
Would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  go  in  my  place." 

"  That  I  would,"  quoth  the  Father,  "  and  thank  you  to  boot, 
But  our  actions,  you  know,  with  our  duty  must  suit : 


The  Thief  and  Cordelier. 


The  feast  I  proposed  to  you  I  cannot  taste, 

For  tins  night,  by  our  Order,  is  nmrk'd  for  a  fast." 


Thou  turning  ahout  to  tin-  liati^man,  he  Haiti, 

"  Dispatch  me,  I  pr'ythfr.  tliis  tiuiiMr-niiir  Made; 

For  thy  cord  and  my  cord  hotli  equally  tie, 

Ami  we  live  by  the  gold  for  which  other  men  die." 


A  GIANT  WHALER. 

WILLIAM  KINO. 

IS  angle-rod  mode  of  a  sturdy  oak, 
His  line  a  cable,  which  in  storms  ne'er  broke, 
His  hook  he  baited  with  a  dragon's  tail, 
And  sate  upon  a  rock,  and  bobb'd  for  whale. 


A  LADY'S  DIARY. 


JONATHAN  SWIFT. 


Y  Nature  turn'd  to  play  the  rake  well, 
(As  we  shall  show  you  in  the  sequel) 
The  modern  dame  is  waked  by  noon, 
(Some  authors  say  not  quite  so  soon) 

Because,  though  sore  against  her  will, 

She  sat  all  night  up  at  quadrille : 


A  Lady 


She  -tivtches,  gape*.  nnglue-  In-i  ••\<-~. 

And  a-k-  it'  it   \»-  time  I"  i 

<  »f  headach  ami  tin-  >ple«-n  r<iiii|il;tin-. 

And  then.  (<>  ciiol  her  heated  l»rain>. 

Her  nightgown  ami  her  -lip|M-r-  brought  hei . 

Tak«--  a  larure  dram  of  citron  water: 

'I'lirn  tu  lii-r  »-la— ;    ami.  "    1'rtlv.  |.i.i\ 

Dun't   I  limk  tVi-htfiillv  t.)-<l;i\  " 

Hut  was  it  imt  riiiifiiiiiiili-il  haul? 

\Vi-ll.  it'  1    r\tT  tolirll  a  rani  ! 

Knur  iiiatailuiv-..  ami  IM-I-  cuililK- ! 

Dr|M-nil    II|M)II  't,    I    llfMT   will. 

But  run  tu  Turn,  ami  liiil  him  Hx 
The  ladies  hen-  to-night  hv  ~i\." 
••  Madam,  tin-  goldsmith  wait-  l"-li>w; 
He  MIVS  hi-  lni>iiic-s  is  to  know 

It'  ViUl'll   li'drrin  the  silver  rll|» 

He  keej»s  in  pawn?"    "  \Miy,  show  him  up."- 

••  ^'uitr  dreMing-plate  he'll  he  mntent 

To  take  for  interest  out.  j>< /•  out. 

And,  madam,  there's  my  Lady  Spade 

Hath  sent  this  letter  by  her  maid." 

••  Well.  I  remember  what  she  won  ; 

And  hath  she  sent  so  soon  to  dun  ? 

Here,  rairv  down  those  ten  jiistul-- 

My  husband  left  to  pay  tor  coals: 

1  thank  my  stars  they  all  are  light, 

And  1  may  have  revenge  to-night." 

Now,  loitering  o'er  her  tea  and  cream. 
She  enters  on  her  usual  theme. 
Her  last  night's  ill  success  repeat-. 
Calls  Lady  Spade  a  hundred  cheat.- : 
"  She  slipp'd  Spadillo  in  her  brea-t. 
Then  thought  to  turn  it  to  a  jest: 
There V  Mrs.  Cut  and  she  combine. 
And  to  each  other  give  the  sign." 

x 


A  Lady  s  Diary. 


Through  every  game  pursues  her  tale, 
Like  hunters  o'er  their  evening  ale. 

Now  to  another  scene  give  place. 
Enter  the  folks  with  silks  and  lace ; 
Fresh  matter  for  a  world  of  chat ; 
Eight  Indian  this,  right  Mechlin  that. 
"  Observe  this  pattern ;  there's  a  stuff  I 
I  can  have  customers  enough. 
Dear  madam  !  you  are  grown  so  hard : 
This  lace  is  worth  twelve  pounds  a-yard. 
Madam,  if  there  be  truth  in  man, 
I  never  sold  so  cheap  a  fan." 

This  business  of  importance  o'er, 
And  madam  almost  dress'd  by  four, 
The  footman,  in  his  usual  phrase, 
Comes  up  with,  "  Madam,  dinner  stays." 
She  answers  in  her  usual  style, 
"  The  cook  must  keep  it  back  a  while : 
I  never  can  have  time  to  dress ; 
No  woman  breathing  takes  up  less : 
I'm  hurried  so  it  makes  me  sick  ; 
I  wish  the  dinner  at  Old  Nick." 

At  table  now  she  acts  her  part, 
Has  all  the  dinner  cant  by  heart. 
"  I  thought  we  were  to  dine  alone 
My  dear  I  for  sure,  if  I  had  known 
This  company  would  come  to-day — 
But  really  'tis  my  spouse's  way. 
He's  so  unkind  he  never  sends 
To  tell  when  he  invites  his  friends. 
I  wish  you  may  but  have  enough — 
And  while  with  all  this  paltry  stuff 
She  sits  tormenting  every  guest, 
Nor  gives  her  tongue  one  moment's  rest, 
In  phrases  batter' d,  stale,  and  trite, 

90 


A  Lady's  Diary. 


Which  modern  ladies  call  polite, 
\«\\  -ee  the  licxiby  hii-haml  »it 
In  :n !n lira tii ni  at  IKT  wit. 

But,  let  me  now  a  while  survey 

<  >ur  madam  o'er  her  evening  tea, 
Surrounded  with  her  noisy  clans 

<  )f  prudes,  coquettes,  and  harridans  ; 
When,  frighted  at  the  clamorous  crew, 
Away  the  god  of  silence  flew, 

And  fair  Discretion  left  the  place, 
And  Modesty,  with  blushing  face. 
Now  enters  overweening  Pride, 
And  Scandal,  ever  gaping  wide, 
Hypocrisy  with  frown  severe, 
Scurrility  with  gihing  air, 
Rude  Laughter,  seeming  like  to  burst, 
And  Malice,  always  judging  worst, 
And  Vanity,  with  pocket-glass, 
And  Impudence,  with  front  of  brass, 
And  studied  Affectation  came, 
Each  limb  and  feature  out  of  frame, 
While  Ignorance,  with  brain  of  lead, 
Flew  hovering  o'er  each  female  head. 

Why  should  I  ask  of  thee,  my  Muse, 
An  hundred  tongues,  as  poets  use, 
When,  to  give  every  dame  her  due, 
An  hundred  thousand  were  too  few  ? 
Or  how  should  I,  alas !  relate 
The  sum  of  all  their  senseless  prate, 
Their  inuendos,  hints,  and  slanders, 
Their  meanings  lewd,  and  double  entendre*  ? 
Now  comes  the  general  scandal  charge, 
What  some  invent  the  rest  enlarge ; 
And,  "  Madam,  if  it  be  a  lie, 
You  have  the  tale  as  cheap  as  I : 

91 


A  Lady's  Diary. 


I  must  conceal  my  author's  name, 
But  now  'tis  known  to  common  fame.'' 

Say,  foolish  females  !  bold  and  blind, 
Say,  by  what  fatal  turn  of  mind 
Are  you  on  vices  most  severe 
Wherein  yourselves  have  greatest  share  ? 
Thus  every  fool  herself  deludes, 
The  prude  condemns  the  absent  prudes  : 
While  crooked  Cynthia  sneering  says 
That  Florimel  wears  iron  stays : 
Chloe,  of  every  coxcomb  jealous, 
Admires  how  girls  can  talk  with  fellows  ; 
And,  full  of  indignation,  frets 
That  women  should  be  such  coquettes  : 
Iris  for  scandal  most  notorious, 
Cries,  Lord  !  the  world  is  so  censorious  ! 
And  Rufa,  with  her  combs  of  lead, 
Whispers  that  Sappho's  hair  is  red : 
Aura,  whose  tongue  you  hear  a  mile  hence, 
Talks  half  a  day  in  praise  of  silence  : 
And  Sylvia,  full  of  inward  guilt, 
Calls  Amoret  an  arrant  jilt. 

Now  voices  over  voices  rise, 
While  each  to  be  the  loudest  vies ; 
They  contradict,  affirm,  dispute, 
No  single  tongue  one  moment  mute  : 
All  mad  to  speak,  and  none  to  hearken, 
They  set  the  very  lap-dog  barking  ; 
Their  chattering  makes  a  louder  din 
Than  fishwives  o'er  a  cup  of  gin ; 
Not  schoolboys  at  a  barring- out 
Raised  ever  such  incessant  rout ; 
The  jumbling  particles  of  matter 
In  chaos  made  not  such  a  clatter ; 
Far  less  the  rabble  roar  and  rail, 
When  drunk  with  sour  election-ale. 


A  Lady's  Ditiry. 


N»i  iln  ilii-v  tiu-t  tin-it  t. infill-  alone. 
Unl  >|>eak  a  IngMgQ  «\ 'their  <>wn  ; 


. 


Can  ri-ad  a  IKM!.  a  sliniir.  a  look. 
Far  Itcttci  than  a  printed  hunk  : 


A  Lady's  Diary. 


Convey  a  libel  in  a  frown, 
And  wink  a  reputation  down ; 
Or,  by  the  tossing  of  a  fan, 
Describe  the  lady  and  the  man. 

But  see,  the  female  club  disbands, 
Each  twenty  visits  on  her  hands. 
Now  all  alone  poor  madam  sits 
In  vapours  and  hysteric  fits  : 
"  And  was  not  Tom  this  morning  sent  ? 
I'd  lay  my  life  he  never  went. 
Past  six,  and  not  a  living  soul ! 
I  might  by  this  have  won  a  vole." 
A  dreadful  interval  of  spleen  ; 
How  shall  we  pass  the  time  between  ? 
"  Here,  Betty,  let  me  take  my  drops ; 
And  feel  my  pulse ;  I  know  it  stops. 
This  head  of  mine,  Lord,  how  it  swims  ! 
And  such  a  pain  in  all  my  limbs ! " 
"  Dear  madam  !  try  to  take  a  nap"- 
But  now  they  hear  a  footman's  rap  : 
"  Go  run,  and  light  the  ladies  up. 
It  must  be  one  before  we  sup." 

The  table,  cards,  and  counters  set, 
And  all  the  gamester  ladies  met, 
Her  spleen  and  fits  recover'd  quite, 
Our  madam  can  sit  up  all  night. 
"  Whoever  comes,  I'm  not  within  :"- 
Quadrille's  the  word,  and  so  begin. 

How  can  the  Muse  her  aid  impart, 
UnskiU'd  in  all  the  terms  of  art ! 
Or  in  harmonious  numbers  put 
The  deal,  the  shuffle,  and  the  cut? 
The  superstitious  whims  relate, 
That  fill  a  female  gamester's  pate  ? 


A  Lady's  Diary. 


\Vlmt  agony  of  soul  >-\\>   ! 

To  see  a  knave'-,  inverted  li. •<•!»? 

Sin-  draws  up  card  liy  rani,  to  Hud 

Good  Fortune  peeping  t'niiii  behind  ; 

With  panting  heart  ami  earnest  eyes, 

In  hope  to  see  Spadillo  ri>«- : 

In  vain,  ala- !  her  hope  is  fed  ; 

She  draws  an  ace,  and  sees  it  red. 

In  ready  counters  never  pays, 

But  pawns  her  snuff-box,  rings,  and  keys : 

KMT  with  some  new  fancy  struck, 

Tries  twenty  charms  to  mend  her  lm-k. 

"  This  morning,  when  the  parson  came. 

I  said  I  should  not  win  a  game. 

This  odious  chair,  how  came  I  stuck  iu't  ? 

I  think  I  never  had  good  luck  in't. 

I'm  so  uneasy  in  my  stays : 

Your  fan  a  moment,  if  you  please. 

Stand  further,  girl,  or  get  you  gone  ; 

I  always  lose  when  you  look  on." 

"  Lord !  madam,  you  have  lost  codille ; 

I  never  saw  you  play  so  ill." 

"  Nay,  madam,  give  me  leave  to  say 

'Twas  you  that  threw  the  game  away ; 

When  Lady  Tricksey  play'd  a  four, 

You  took  it  with  a  matadore. 

I  saw  you  touch  your  wedding-ring 

Before  my  Lady  call'd  a  King ; 

You  spoke  a  word  began  with  H, 

And  I  know  whom  you  meant  to  teach, 

Because  you  held  the  King  of  Hearts. 

Fie  !  madam,  leave  these  little  arts." 

"  That's  not  so  bad  as  one  that  rubs 

Her  chair  to  call  the  King  of  Clubs, 

And  makes  her  partner  understand 

A  matadore  is  in  her  hand." 

"  Madam,  you  have  no  cause  to  flounce ; 

95 


A  Lady's  Diary. 


I  swear  I  saw  you  thrice  renounce." 

"  And  truly,  madam,  I  know  when 

Instead  of  five,  you  scored  me  ten. 

Spadillo  here  has  got  a  mark, 

A  child  may  know  it  in  the  dark : 

I  guess  the  hand  ;  it  seldom  fails  ; 

I  wish  some  folks  would  pare  their  nails." 

While  thus  they  rail,  and  scold,  and  storm, 
It  passes  but  for  common  form ; 
And  conscious  that  they  all  speak  true, 
They  give  each  other  but  their  due  ; 
It  never  interrupts  the  game, 
Or  makes  them  sensible  of  shame. 

The  time,  too  precious  now  to  waste, 
And  supper  gobbled  up  in  haste, 
Again  afresh  to  cards  they  run, 
As  if  they  had  but  just  begun. 
But  I  shall  not  again  repeat 
How  oft  they  squabble,  snarl,  and  cheat. 
At  last  they  hear  the  watchman  knock, 

"  A  frosty  morn past  four  o'clock." 

The  chairmen  are  not  to  be  found ; 
"  Come,  let  us  play  the  other  round." 

Now  all  in  haste  they  huddle  on 
Their  hoods  and  cloaks,  and  get  them  gone ; 
But  first  the  winner  must  invite 
The  company  to-morrow  night. 

Unlucky  madam,  left  in  tears, 
(Who  now  again  quadrille  forswears) 
With  empty  purse,  and  aching  head, 
Steals  to  her  sleeping  spouse  to  bed. 


,.,. 


A  LOVE  SONG.      IN  THE  MODERN  TASTE. 


1>K  \X    N  WIK  I. 


LUTTERING,  spread  thy  purple  pinions, 

Gentle  Cupid,  o'er  my  heart : 
I  a  slave  in  thy  dominions ; 
Nature  must  givr  \v;iy  to  art. 

Mild  Arcadians,  ever  blooming, 
Nightly  no<lding  o'er  your  flock-. 

See  my  weary  days  consuming 
All  beneath  yon  flowery  rock-. 

Thus  the  Cyprian  Goddess,  weeping. 
Mourn'd  Adonis,  darling  youth  : 


A  Love  Song. 


Him  the  boar,  in  silence  creeping, 
Gored  with  unrelenting  tooth. 

Cynthia,  tune  harmonious  numbers  ; 

Fair  Discretion,  string  the  lyre  : 
Soothe  my  ever-waking  slumbers : 

Bright  Apollo,  lend  thy  choir. 

Gloomy  Pluto,  king  of  terrors, 
Arm'd  in  adamantine  chains, 
Lead  me  to  the  crystal  mirrors 
Watering  soft  Elysian  plains. 

Mournful  cypress,  verdant  willow, 
Gilding  my  Aurelia's  brows, 

Morpheus,  hovering  o'er  my  pillow. 
Hear  me  pay  my  dying  vows. 

Melancholy,  smooth  Meander, 
Swiftly  purling  in  a  round, 

On  thy  margin  lovers  wander, 

With  thy  flowery  chaplets  crown'd. 

Thus,  when  Philomela,  drooping, 
Softly  seeks  her  silent  mate, 

See  the  bird  of  Juno  stooping  ; 
Melody  resigns  to  fate. 


Till-:    MKKKY   Sn.M'-l!<>IU-:i{. 


FROM  THK  (JKHMAN  OF  FRF.DKRICK  HAfJF.DORN. 


1 1:  \\M.\II:I>  itv  r..  \v.  TAYI.OH. 


STKADY  ami  a  skilful  toiler, 
.lolui  <rot  his  lnvad  a>  a  >na[i-lMjilcr, ' 
Manii-il  all  he  wished,  his  heart  was  light, 
Hi-  \\urki'd  and  sang  from  morn  till  night. 
E'en  durini;-  meals  his  notes  were  heard, 

And  tO  hi-  heel'  were  ut't   preferred  :  a 

1  Born  in  Hamburgh  in  1708;  studied  law,  and  in  1729  he  came  to  England  as 
secretary  of  the  Danish  Legation,  and  made  himself  master  of  our  language.  In 
1733  he  was  appointed  secretary  of  the  English  factory  at  Hamburgh,  and  in  17J4 
he  died  suddenly. 


'The  Merry  Soap-boiler. 


At  breakfast,  and  at  supper,  too, 

His  throat  had  double  work  to  do ; 

He  oftener  sang  than  said  his  prayers, 

And  dropped  asleep  while  humming  airs  : 

Until  his  very  next  door  neighbour, 

Had  learned  the  tunes  that  cheered  his  labor, 

And  every  passer-by  could  tell 

Where  merry  John  was  wont  to  dwell. 

At  reading  he  was  rather  slack, 

Studied  at  most  the  almanac, 

To  know  when  holy  days  were  nigh, 

And  put  his  little  savings  by ; 

But  sang  the  more  on  vacant  days, 

To  waste  the  less  his  means  and  ways. 

'Tis  always  well  to  live  and  learn. 

The  owner  of  the  soap  concern — 

A  fat  and  wealthy  burgomaster, 

Who  drank  his  hock,  and  smoked  his  knaster, 

At  marketing  was  always  apter 

Than  any  prelate  in  the  chapter, 

And  thought  a  pheasant  in  sour  krout 

Superior  to  a  Turkey-poult ; 

But  woke  at  times  before  daybreak 

With  heart-burn,  gout,  or  liver  ache — 

Oft  heard  our  sky-lark  of  the  garret, 

Sing  to  his  slumber,  but  to  mar  it. 

He  sent  for  John  one  day  and  said, 

"  What's  your  year's  income  from  your  trade  ?" 

"  Master,  I  never  thought  of  counting 
To  what  my  earnings  are  amounting 
At  the  year's  end  :  if  every  Monday 
I've  paid  my  meat  and  drink  for  Sunday, 
And  something  in  the  box  unspent 
Remains  for  fuel,  coals,  and  rent, 


'The  Merry  Soap-boiler. 


l'\e   hll-liailded    tin-    lirrdflll 

Ami  feel  (jiiitc  ea-y  with  my  lot. 

The  maker  »\  tin-  almanac 

Must,  like  \onr  \\or-hi|>.  knuw  no  lack. 

Klse   11   red    letter  e;illll<-—    da\ 

Would  oftener  be  struck  a\\.i\." 

"  Jollll.  you've   Keen  long  a  fllitllflll   fellow, 

Though  always  merry,  si-Mom  mellow. 
Take  this  rouleau  of  fifty  dollars, 
My  purses  glibly  slip  their  collars ; 
Mut.  Itefore  breakfast  let  this  singing 
No  longer  in  my  ears  he  ringing; 
When  once  your  eyes  ami  lips  unclose, 
I  must  forego  my  morning  doze." 

John  blushes,  bows,  and  stammers  thanks. 
And  steals  away  on  bended  shanks. 
Hiding  and  hugging  his  new  treasure, 
As  had  it  been  a  stolen  seizure. 
At  home  he  bolts  his  chamber  door, 
Views,  counts,  and  weighs  his  tinkling  store, 
Nor  trust  it  to  the  savings-box, 
Till  he  has  screw'd  on  double  locks. 
His  dog  and  lie  play  tricks  no  more, 
They're  rival  watchmen  of  the  door, 
Small  wish  has  he  to  sing  a  word, 
Lest  thieves  should  climb  his  stair  unheard. 
At  length  he  tintls.  the  more  he  saves, 
The  more  he  frets,  the  more  he  craves ; 
That  his  old  freedom  was  a  blessing 
111  sold  for  all  his  now  possessing. 

One  day,  he  to  his  master  went 
And  carried  back  his  hoard  unspent. 
••  Master."  says  he.  "  I've  heard  of  old. 
I'ulilest  is  he  who  watches  gold. 
101 


The  Merry  Soap-boiler. 


Take  back  your  present,  and  restore 
The  cheerfulness  I  knew  before. 
I'll  take  a  room  not  quite  so  near, 
Out  of  your  worship's  reach  of  ear, 
Sing  at  my  pleasure,  laugh  at  sorrow, 
Enjoy  to-day,  nor  dread  to-morrow, 
Be  still  the  steady,  honest  toiler, 
The  merry  John,  the  old  soap-boiler." 


ON  BUTLER'S  MONUMENT. 

REV.  SAMUEL  WESLEY. 

HILE  Butler,  needy  wretch,  was  yet  alive, 
No  generous  patron  would  a  dinner  give. 
See  him,  when  starved  to  death  and  turn'd  to  dust, 
Presented  with  a  monumental  bust. 
The  poet's  fate  is  here  in  emblem  shown — 
He  ask'd  for  bread,  and  he  received  a  stone. 


102 


THE  VICAR  OF  BRAY.1 

N  good  King  Charles's  golden  days, 

When  loyalty  no  harm  meant, 
A  zealous  high-churchman  was  I, 

And  so  I  got  preferment. 
To  teach  my  flock  I  never  miss'd 
Kings  were  by  God  appointed, 
And  lost  are  those  that  dare  rr>i-t 
Or  touch  the  Lord's  anointed. 

Ami  this  is  law  that  I'll  maintain 

l*n til  my  dying  day,  sir, 
That  whatsoever  King  shall  reign, 
Still  I'll  be  the  vicar  of  Bray,  sir. 

1  In  Berkshire.  Nichols  says,  in  his  Select  Poems,  that  the  song  of  the  Vicar  of 
Bray  "  was  written  by  a  soldier  in  Colonel  Fuller's  troop  of  Dragoons,  in  the  reign 
of  George  I." 


The  Vicar  of  Bray. 


When  royal  James  possess'd  the  crown. 

And  popery  grew  in  fashion. 
The  penal  laws  I  hooted  down, 

And  read  the  Declaration  : 
The  Church  of  Rome  I  found  would  fit 

Full  well  my  constitution  ; 
And  I  had  been  a  Jesuit, 
But  for  the  Revolution, 

And  this  is  law  that  I'll  maintain 

Until  my  dying  day,  sir, 
That  whatsoever  King  shall  reign, 
Still  I'll  be  the  vicar  of  Bray,  sir. 

When  William  was  our  king  declar'd, 

To  ease  the  nation's  grievance  ; 
With  this  new  wind  about  I  steer'd, 

And  swore  to  him  allegiance  : 
Old  principles  I  did  revoke, 

Set  conscience  at  a  distance  ; 
Passive  obedience  was  a  joke, 
A  jest  was  non-resistance. 

And  this  is  law  that  I'll  maintain 

Until  my  dying  day,  sir, 
That  whatsoever  King  shall  reign, 
Still  I'll  be  the  vicar  of  Bray,  sir. 

When  royal  Anne  became  our  queen, 

The  Church  of  England's  glory, 
Another  face  of  things  was  seen, 

And  I  became  a  tory  : 
Occasional  conformists  base, 

I  blam'd  their  moderation  ; 
And  thought  the  church  in  danger  was, 
By  such  prevarication. 

And  this  is  law  that  I'll  maintain 

Until  my  dying  day,  sir, 
That  whatsoever  King  shall  reign, 
Still  I'll  be  the  vicar  of  Bray,  sir. 

104 


The  Vicar  of  Bray. 


\Vlirll   (ir.ip.Jf   ill    puddillg-tillli-  l-ailli-  nVl. 

Anil  niuilrratr  mm  lookM  lii^.  ~ii. 
My  principles  I  diang'd  oner  m»i.  -, 

Ami  M»  lieranir  u  whig,  -ii  ; 
And  tliu-  prefei  ini'iit  I  |in»cin'il 

From  our  new  fuitli's  drt'ctidcr; 
And  almost  c\'r\  d;iv  alijnr'd 
The  POJH-  and  tlir  rn-tc-nder. 

And  this  is  law  that  I'll  maintain 

L'ntil  mv  dvin^  dav.  >ir, 
That  whatMH-vfi-  Kiii.i^  shall  ivi.tjii. 
Still  I'll  }»•  tlir  \icai  of  Hiay,  sir. 

Th'  illastrious  house  of  Hanover, 

And  Protestant  succession, 
To  these  I  do  allegiance  swear  — 

While  they  can  keep  po»osion: 
For  in  my  faith  and  loyalty, 

I  never  more  will  falter, 
And  George  my  lawful  king  shall  be  — 
L'ntil  the  times  do  alter. 

And  this  is  law  that  I'll  maintain 

Until  my  dying  day,  sir, 
That  whatsoever  King  shall  reign, 
Still  I'll  he  the  vicar  of  Bray,  sir. 


• 


105 


A  HUNTING  WE  WILL  GO. 


HENHY  FIELDING. 


HE  dusky  night  rides  down  the  sky, 
And  ushers  in  the  morn  ; 
The  hounds  all  join  in  glorious  cry, 
The  huntsman  winds  his  horn, 

And  a  hunting  we  will  go. 


The  wife  around  her  husband  throws 
Her  arms,  to  make  him  stay ; 
"  My  dear,  it  hails,  it  rains,  it  blows ; 
You  cannot  hunt  to-day." 

Yet  a  hunting  we  will  go. 

Away  they  fly  to  'scape  the  rout, 
Their  steeds  they  soundly  switch  ; 

106 


A  Hunting  -nr  will  Go. 


Snlllc    .'lie    tllpiMII    ill.    -nine    illi-    rllluWII    (lilt. 


Ami  -dine  an-  thrown  in  the  ditch. 

Yrt  a  Iiutiiiii--  \vo  will  go. 


A  Hunting  we  will  Go. 


Sly  Reynard  now  like  lightning  flies, 
And  sweeps  across  the  vale ; 
And  when  the  hounds  too  near  he  spies, 
He  drops  his  bushy  tail. 

Then  a  hunting  we  will  go. 

Fond  Echo  seems  to  like  the  sport, 
And  join  the  jovial  cry  ; 
The  woods,  the  hills,  the  sound  retort, 
And  music  fills  the  sky  ; 

When  a  hunting  we  do  go. 

At  last  his  strength  to  faintness  worn, 
Poor  Reynard  ceases  flight ; 
Then  hungry,  homewards  we  return, 
To  feast  away  the  night : 

And  a  drinking  we  do  go. 

Ye  jovial  hunters,  in  the  morn 
Prepare  then  for  the  chase  ; 
Eise  at  the  sounding  of  the  horn 
And  health  with  sport  embrace, 

When  a  hunting  we  do  go.1 


1  There  are  several  versions  of  this  song,  of  various  degrees  of  length  and  of 
merit.  "  This  song,"  says  Mr.  Chappell,  in  his  Collection  of  National  English  Airs, 
"  was  originally  to  the  tune  of  '  A  Begging  we  will  go,'  (1660).  The  words  by 
Fielding  are  contained  in  his  ballad  opera  of  Don  Quixote  in  England,  but  have 
since  been  somewhat  altered. 


THE  PEPPER-BOX  AND  SALT-CELLAR. 


WILLIAM   SIIKXSK'M  . 


HE  'squire  hail  <lin\l  alone  one  day. 
And  Tom  was  eall'd  to  take  awav  : 
Tom  elenr'd  the  hoard  with  dextruu*  nit 
Hut  willing  to  secure  a  tart. 

The  liquorish  youth  had  made  u  halt  ; 

And  left  the  |ie|i]ier-hox  and  salt 

Alone,  upon  the  marhle  taihle  : 

Who  thus,  like  men.  were  heard  to  >qnahl>le : 

1V|»|HT  he^an.  "  1'iay.  sir."  >n\>  he, 
••  What  husine>s  have  you  here  with  me? 
IM 


'The  Pepper-box  and  Salt-cellar. 


Is't  fit  that  spices  of  my  birth 

Should  rank  with  thee,  thou  scum  of  earth  ? 

I'd  have  you  know,  sir,  I've  a  spirit 

Suited  to  my  superior  merit — 

Though  now,  confin'd  within  this  castre, 

I  serve  a  northern  Gothic  master ; 

Yet  born  in  Java's  fragrant  wood, 

To  warm  an  eastern  monarch's  blood, 

The  sun  those  rich  perfections  gave  me, 

Which  tempted  Dutchmen  to  enslave  me. 

"  Nor  are* my  virtues  here  unknown, 
Though  old  and  wrinkled  now  I'm  grown. 
Black  as  I  am,  the  fairest  maid 
Invokes  my  stimulating  aid, 
To  give  her  food  the  poignant  flavour ; 
And  to  each  sauce,  its  proper  savour. 
Pasties,  ragouts  and  fricassees, 
Without  my  seasoning,  fail  to  please  : 
'Tis  I,  like  wit,  must  give  a  zest, 
And  sprightliness,  to  every  feast. 

"  Physicians  too  my  use  confess  ; 
My  influence  sagest  matrons  bless : 
When  drams  prove  vain,  and  cholics  teaze, 
To  me  they  fly  for  certain  ease. 
Xay,  I  fresh  vigour  can  dispense, 
And  cure  ev'n  age  and  impotence : 
And,  when  of  dulness  wits  complain, 
I  brace  the  nerves,  and  clear  the  brain. 

"  But,  to  the  'squire  here,  I  appeal — 
He  knows  my  real  value  well : 
Who,  with  one  pepper-corn  content, 
Remits  the  vassal's  annual  rent — 

"  Hence  then,  Sir  Brine,  and  keep  your  distance 
Go  lend  the  scullion  your  assistance ; 

110 


The  Pepper-box  and  Salt-cellar. 


For  culinary  uses  tit ; 

To  suit  the  moat  upon  the  -pit  ; 

Or  just  to  keep  his  meat  from  stinking 

A  ml  then — a  special  friend  to  drinking!" 

"  Your  folly  moves  me  with  suquize," 
The  silver  triinxl  thus  replies, 
"  Pray,  Master  Pepper,  why  so  hot? 
First  cousin  to  the  n MI-I;II «l -j » .1  I 

"  What  boots  it  how  our  life  began  ? 
'Tis  breeding  makes  the  gentleman  : 
Yet  would  you  search  my  j>edigree, 
I  rose,  like  Venus,  from  the  sea : 
The  sun,  whose  influence  you  boast, 
Nurs'd  me  upon  the  British  coast. 

"  The  chymists  know  my  rank  and  place, 
When  nature's  principles  they  trace : 
And  wisest  moderns  yield  to  me 
The  elemental  monarchy. 
By  me  all  nature  is  supplied 
With  all  her  beauty,  all  her  pride. 
In  vegetation,  I  ascend ; 
To  animals,  their  vigour  lend : 
Corruption's  foe,  I  life  preserve, 
And  stimulate  each  slacken'd  nerve. 
I  give  jonquils  their  high  perfume ; 
The  peach  its  flavour,  rose  its  bloom  : 
Nay,  I'm  the  cause,  when  rightly  trac'd, 
Of  Pepper's  aromatic  taste. 

"  Such  claims  you  teach  me  to  produce  ; 
But  need  I  plead  my  obvious  use, 
In  seasoning  all  terrestrial  food  ? 
When  heav'n  declares,  that  salt  is  good. 
111 


T7ie  Pepper-box  and  Salt-cellar. 


"  Grant  then  some  few  thy  virtues  find ; 
Yet  salt  gives  health  to  all  mankind  : 
Physicians  sure  will  side  with  me, 
While  cooks  alone  shall  plead  for  thee. 
In  short,  with  all  thine  airs  about  thee, 
The  world  were  happier  far  without  thee." 

The  'squire,  who  all  this  time  sat  mute, 
Now  put  an  end  to  their  dispute : 
He  rung  the  bell — bade  Tom  convey 
The  doughty  disputants  away. 

The  salt  refresh'd  by  shaking  up, 
At  night  did  with  his  master  sup : 
The  pepper  Tom  assign'd  his  lot 
With  vinegar,  and  mustard-pot : 
A  fop  with  bites  and  sharpers  join'd, 
And,  to  the  side-board  well  confin'd  ! 

MORAL. 

Thus  real  genius  is  respected  ! 

Conceit  and  folly  thus  neglected ! 

And,  O  my  Shenstone  !  let  the  vain, 

With  misbecoming  pride,  explain 

Their  splendor,  influence,  wealth,  or  birth  ;- 

'Tis  men  of  sense  are  men  of  worth. 


THE   HONEST   MAX'S   LITANY. 

[FROM  THE  GENTLEMAN'S  MAGAZINE.] 

ROM  a  wife  of  small  fortune,  but  yet  very  proud, 
Who  values  herself  on  her  family's  blood : 
Who  seldom  tulks  sense,  but  for  ever  is  loud, 
Libera  me  ! 


From  living  i'  th'  parish  that  has  an  old  kirk. 
Where  the  parson  would  rule  like  n  .lew  or  a  Turk, 
And  keep  a  poor  curate  to  do  all  his  work, 

Libera  me! 

From  a  justice  of  peace  who  'forgives  no  offence. 
But  construes  the  law  in  its  most  rigid  >rn>r. 
And  still  to  bind  over  will  find  some  pretcm-f. 

/./'/„  i-n  in,  .' 


The  Honest  Man's  Litany. 


From  bailiffs,  attorneys,  and  all  common  rogues, 
From  Irish  nonsense,  their  bogs  and  their  brogues, 
From  Scots'  bonny  clabber,  their  clawing  and  shrugs, 

Libera  me  ! 

From  spiritual  courts,  citations  and  libels, 
From  proctors,  apparitors,  and  all  the  tribe  else, 
Which  never  were  read  of  yet,  in  any  Bibles, 

Libera  me  ! 

From  dealing  with  great  men  and  taking  their  word, 
From  waiting  whole  mornings  to  speak  with  my  lord, 
Who  puts  off  his  payments,  and  puts  on  his  sword, 

Libera  me  ! 

From  trusting  to  hypocrites  :  wretches  who  trifle 
With  heaven,  that  on  earth  more  secure  they  may  rifle ; 
Who  conscience  and  honour  and  honesty  stifle, 

Libera  me  ! 

From  Black-coats,  who  never  the  gospel  yet  taught, 
From  Ked-coats,  who  never  a  battle  yet  fought, 
From  Turn-coats,  whose  inside  and  outside  are  naught, 

Libera  me  ! 


111 


THE  CHAMELEON. 

JAMES  MRRRICK. 

FT  has  it  been  ray  lot  to  mark 
A  proud,  conceited,  talking  spark. 
With  eyes  that  hardly  served  at  most 
To  guard  their  master  Vain-t  a  po-t  : 

Yet  round  the  world  the  blade  has  been. 

To  see  whatever  could  be  seen. 

115 


\ 


The  Chameleon. 


Returning  from  his  finished  tour. 
Grown  ten  times  perter  than  hefore  ; 
Whatever  word  you  chance  to  drop, 
The  travelled  fool  your  mouth  will  stop : 
"  Sir,  if  my  judgment  you'll  allow — 
I've  seen — and  sure  I  ought  to  know."- 
So  begs  you'd  pay  a  due  submission, 
And  acquiesce  in  his  decision. 

Two  travellers  of  such  a  cast, 
As  o'er  Arabia's  wilds  they  passed, 
And  on  their  way,  in  friendly  chat, 
Now  talked  of  this,  and  then  of  that ; 
Discoursed  awhile,  'mongst  other  matter, 
Of  the  Chameleon's  form  and  nature. 
"  A  stranger  animal,"  cries  one, 
"  Sure  never  lived  beneath  the  sun  : 
A  lizard's  body  lean  and  long, 
A  fish's  head,  a  serpent's  tongue, 
Its  foot  with  triple  claw  disjoined  ; 
And  what  a  length  of  tail  behind  ! 
How  slow  its  pace  !  and  then  its  hue — 
Who  ever  saw  so  fine  a  blue?" 

"  Hold  there,"  the  other  quick  replies, 
"  'Tis  green,  I  saw  it  with  these  eyes, 
As  late  with  open  mouth  it  lay, 
And  warmed  it  in  the  sunny  ray ; 
Stretched  at  its  ease  the  beast  I  viewed, 
And  saw  it  eat  the  air  for  food." 

"  I've  seen  it,  sir,  as  well  as  you, 
And  must  again  affirm  it  blue  ; 
At  leisure  I  the  beast  surveyed 
Extended  in  the  cooling  shade." 

"  'Tis  green,  'tis  green,  sir,  I  assure  ye." 
"  Green  ! "  cries  the  other  in  a  fury  : 

116 


The  Chameleon. 


"  Why,  .sir.  d'ye  think  I'vi-  loM  my  ey. 
"  'Twere  no  great  loss,"  tin-  frit-mi  replies; 
"  For  if  they  always  serve  you  tlm-*. 
You'll  find  them  but  of  little  n-  ." 

So  high  at  last  the  mm. 
From  words  they  almost  t-jum-  to  blows: 
When  luckily  came  by  a  third  ; 
To  him  the  question  they  referred : 
And  begged  he'd  tell  them,  it  In-  knew, 
Whether  the  thing  was  green  or  blue. 

"  Sirs,"  cries  the  umpire,  "  cease  your  jiother ; 
Tlie  creature's  neither  one  nor  t'other. 
I  caught  the  animal  last  night. 
And  view'd  it  o'er  by  candle-light : 
I  marked  it  well,  'twas  black  as  jet — 
You  stare — but  sirs,  I've  got  it  yet, 
And  can  produce  it." — "  Pray,  sir,  do ; 
I'll  lay  my  life  the  thing  is  blue." 
"  And  I'll  be  sworn,  that  when  you've  seen 
The  reptile,  you'll  pronounce  him  green." 

"  Well,  then,  at  once  to  ease  the  doubt," 
Replies  the  man,  "  I'll  turn  him  out : 
And  when  before  your  eyes  I've  set  him, 
If  you  don't  find  him  black,  I'll  eat  him." 

He  said  ;  and  full  before  their  sight 
Produced  the  beast,  and  lo ! — 'twas  white. 
Both  stared,  the  man  looked  wondrous  wise — 
"  My  children,"  the  Chameleon  cries, 
(Then  first  the  creature  found  a  tongue) 
"  You  all  are  right,  and  all  are  wrong : 
When  next  you  talk  of  what  you  vie«  . 
Think  others  see  as  well  as  you  : 
Nor  wonder  if  you  find  that  none 
Prefers  your  eye-sight  to  his  own." 

117 


THE  JACKDAW. 


WILLIAM  COWPEB. 


i  HERE  is  a  bird,  who  by  his  coat, 
And  by  the  hoarseness  of  his  note, 

Might  be  suppos'd  a  crow ; 
A  great  frequenter  of  the  church, 
Where  bishop-like  he  finds  a  perch, 
And  dormitory  too. 

Above  the  steeple  shines  a  plate, 
That  turns  and  turns,  to  indicate 

From  what  point  blows  the  weather ; 
Look  up — your  brains  begin  to  swim, 
'Tis  in  the  clouds — that  pleases  him, 

He  chooses  it  the  rather. 


The  Jackdaw. 


Foiul  of  the  H|»eculative  height. 
Thither  he  wings  his  airy  flight, 

And  thence  securely  MM 
The  bustle  and  the  raree-show, 
That  occupy  mankind  below, 

Secure  and  at  his  eaae. 

You  think,  no  doubt,  he  -it-  and  muses 
On  future  broken  bones  and  bruises, 

If  he  should  chance  to  full. 
No ;  not  a  single  thought  like  that 
Employs  his  philosophic  pate, 

Or  troubles  it  at  all. 

He  sees,  that  this  great  round-about, 
The  World,  with  all  it's  motley  rout, 

Church,  army,  physic,  law, 
Its  customs,  and  its  businesses, 
Is  no  concern  at  all  of  his, 

And  says — what  says  he  ? — Caw. 

Thrice  happy  bird  !  I  too  have  seen 
Much  of  the  vanities  of  men  ; 

And,  sick  of  having  seen  'cm, 
Would  cheerfully  these  limbs  resign 
For  such  a  pair  of  wings  as  thine, 

And  such  a  head  between  'em. 


119 


THE  PAEROT. 


WILLIAM  COWPER. 

N  painted  plumes  superbly  dress'd, 
A  native  of  the  gorgeous  east, 

By  many  a  billow  tosa'd  ; 
Poll  gains  at  length  the  British  shore, 
Part  of  the  captain's  precious  store, 
•    A  present  to  his  toast. 

Belinda's  maids  are  soon  preferr'd, 
To  teach  him  now  and  then  a  word, 
As  Poll  can  master  it ; 

120 


The  Parrot. 


Hut  'tis  her  own  imjKirtant  charge, 
To  quality  liiin  mure  at  lai^-. 
And  make  him  quite  a  wit. 

"  Sweet  Poll  !"   his  doating  mi*tiv—  c-ri« •-. 
"  Sweet  Poll !"  the  mimic  hird  replies; 

And  calls  aloud  for  sack. 
She  next  instructs  him  in  the  kiss ; 
'Tis  now  a  little  one,  like  Miss, 

And  now  a  hearty  smack. 

At  first  he  aims  at  what  lie  hears ; 
And,  list'ning  close  with  Ixith  hi-,  ears, 

Just  catches  at  the  sound  ; 
Hut  soon  articulates  aloud, 
Much  to  th*  amusement  of  the  crowd. 

And  stuns  the  neightours  round. 

A  querulous  old  woman's  voice 
His  hum'rous  talent  next  employs, 

He  scolds,  and  gives  the  He. 
And  now  he  sings,  and  now  is  sick, 
"  Here  Sally,  Susan,  come,  come  quick. 

Poor  Poll  is  like  to  die  !" 

Hclinda  and  her  bird  !  'tis  rare, 

To  meet  with  such  a  well-match'd  pair, 

The  language  and  the  tone, 
Each  character  in  ev'ry  part 
Sustain'd  with  so  much  grace  and  art. 

And  both  in  unison. 

When  children  first  begin  to  spell. 
And  stammer  out  a  syllable, 

We  think  them  tedious  creatures  ; 
But  difficulties  soon  abate, 
When  birds  are  to  be  taught  to  prate, 

And  women  are  the  teachers. 

121 


GAFFEK  GEAY. 


THOMAS  HOLCKOFT. 


O  !  why  dost  thou  shiver  and  shake, 

Gaffer  Gray ; 
And  why  does  thy  nose  look  so  blue  ? 

"  'Tis  the  weather  that's  cold, 
'Tis  I'm  grown  very  old, 
And  my  doublet  is  not  very  new, 
Well-a-day!" 

Then  line  thy  worn  doublet  with  ale, 
Gaffer  Gray ; 


Gaffer  Gray. 


And  warm  thy  <>lil  In-art  with  a  glaM. 

"  Ka\ .  luit  nvilit   I'\<-  none, 

And  my  mcmoy's  all  gone; 
Then  say  how  may  that  come  to  pas*  ? 

Well-a-day!" 

Hie  away  to  the  house  on  the  hrow, 

Gaffer  Gray ; 
And  knock  at  the  jolly  priest's  door. 

"  The  priest  often  preaches 

Against  worldly  riches, 
But  ne'er  gives  a  mite  to  the  poor, 

Well-a-day!" 

The  lawyer  lives  under  the  hill, 

Gaffer  Gray ; 
Warmly  fenced  both  in  hack  and  in  front. 

"  He  will  fasten  his  locks, 

And  will  threaten  the  stocks 
Should  he  ever  more  find  me  in  want, 

Well-a-day!" 

The  squire  has  fat  beeves  and  brown  ale, 

Gaffer  Gray  : 
And  the  season  will  welcome  you  there. 

"  His  fat  beeves  and  his  beer, 

And  his  merry  new  year, 
Are  all  for  the  flush  and  the  fair, 

Well-a-day  !" 

M  v  keg  is  but  low,  I  confess, 

Gaffer  Gray ; 
What  then  ?    While  it  lasts,  man,  we'll  live. 

"  The  poor  man  alone, 

When  he  hears  the  poor  moan, 
Of  his  morsel  a  morsel  will  give, 

Well-a-day!" 

123 


CUPID  MISTAKEN. 


WILLIAM  THOMPSON. 


ENUS  whipt  Cupid  t'other  day, 

For  having  lost  his  bow  and  quiver 
For  he  had  giv'n  them  both  away 
To  Stella,  queen  of  Isis  river. 


"  Mamma  !  you  wrong  me  while  you  strike," 
Cry'd  weeping  Cupid,  "  for  I  vow, 

Stella  and  you  are  so  alike, 

I  thought  that  I  had  lent  them  you." 


124 


CAPTAIN  (OF  MILITIA)  SIB  DILBEREY  DIDDLE. 
[GBNT.'S  MAO.  VOL.  xxxvi.  p.  233,  FOR  1766.J 

F  all  the  brave  captains  that  ever  were  seen, 
Appointed  to  fight  by  a  king  or  a  queen, 
By  a  king  or  a  queen  appointed  to  fight, 
Sure  never  a  captain  was  like  this  brave  knight. 

He  pull'd  off  his  slippers  and  wrapper  of  silk, 
And,  foaming  as  furious  as  whisked  new  milk, 
Says  he  to  his  lady,  "  My  lady,  I'll  go : 
My  company  calls  me ;  you  must  not  say  no." 

With  eyes  all  in  tears  says  my  lady,  says  she, 

"  O,  cruel  Sir  Dilberry,  do  not  kill  me  ! 

For  I  never  will  leave  thee,  but  cling  round  thy  middle, 

And  die  in  the  arms  of  Sir  Dilberry  Diddle." 

Says  Diddle  again  to  his  lady,  "  My  dear," 

(And  a  white  pocket-handkerchief  wiped  off  a  tear) 

"  To  fight  for  thy  charms  in  the  hottest  of  wars 

Will  be  joy  !    Thou  art  Venus."     Says  she,  "  Thou  art  Mars.' 

By  a  place  I  can't  mention,  not  knowing  it-  name, 
At  the  head  of  his  company  Dilberry  came, 
And  the  drums  to  the  windows  call  every  r\. 
To  see  the  defence  of  the  nation  pass  1>\ . 


Captain  Sir  Dil berry  Diddle. 


Old  bible-faced  women,  through  spectacles  dim, 
With  hemming  and  coughing,  cried,  "  Lord,  it  is  him  /" 
While  boys  and  the  girls,  who  more  clearly  could  see, 
Cried,  "  Yonder's  Sir  Dilberry  Diddle — that's  he!" 

Of  all  the  fair  ladies  that  came  to  the  show 

Sir  Diddle's  fair  lady  stood  first  in  the  row  ; 

u  O,  how  charming,"  says  she,  "  he  looks  all  in  red : 

How  he  turns  out  his  toes,  how  he  holds  up  his  head  ! 

"  Do  but  see  his  cockade,  and  behold  his  dear  gun, 
Which  shines  like  a  looking-glass,  held  in  the  sun  ! 
Hear  his  word  of  command  !  'tis  so  sweet,  I  am  sure, 
Each  time  I  am  tempted  to  call  out — encore  ! " 

The  battle  now  over,  without  any  blows, 
The  heroes  unharness  and  strip  off  their  clothes  ; 
The  dame  gives  her  captain  a  sip  of  rose-water, 
Then  he,  handing  her  into  her  coach,  steps  in  after. 

John's  orders  are  special  to  drive  very  slow, 
For  fevers  oft  follow  fatigues,  we  all  know  ; 
And,  prudently  cautious,  in  Venus's  lap 
Beneath  her  short  apron,  Mars  takes  a  long  nap. 

He  dreamt,  Fame  reports,  that  he  cut  all  the  throats 
Of  the  French,  as  they  landed  in  flat-bottom  boats. 
In  his  sleep  if  such  dreadful  destruction  he  makes, 
What  havock,  ye  gods  !  we  shah1  have  when  he  wakes  ! 


12H 


THE  ASS  AND  THE  FLUTE. 


TOMAS  DK  YBIAHTK. 


OU  must  know  that  this  ditty, 

This  little  romance, 
Be  it  dull,  be  it  witty, 
Arose  from  mere  chance. 


Near  a  certain  inclosure, 
Not  far  from  my  manse. 

An  ass,  with  composure, 
Was  passing  by  chance. 
127 


'The  Ass  and  the  Flute. 


As  he  went  along  prying, 
With  sober  advance, 

A  shepherd's  flute  lying, 
He  found  there  by  chance. 

Our  amateur  started 
And  eyed  it  askance, 

Drew  nearer,  and  snorted 
Upon  it  by  chance. 

The  breath  of  the  brute,  Sir, 
Drew  music  for  once  ; 

It  enter'd  the  flute,  Sir, 
And  blew  it  by  chance. 

"  Ah  ! "  cried  he,  in  wonder, 
"  How  comes  this  to  pass  ? 

Who  will  now  dare  to  slander 
The  skill  of  an  ass?" 

And  asses  in  plenty 

I  see  at  a  glance, 
Who,  one  time  in  twenty, 

Succeed  by  mere  chance. 


128 


THE  DOUBLE  TRANSFORMATION. 

OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 

ECLUDED  from  domestic  strife, 
Jack  Book-worm  led  a  college  life  ; 
A  fellowship  at  twenty-five 
Made  him  the  happiest  man  alive  ; 
1  Ie  drank  his  glass,  and  crack'd  his  joke, 
And  freshmen  wonder'd  as  he  spoke. 

Such  pleasures  unalla3"'d  with  care, 
uld  an    accident  imair  ? 


Could  any  accident  impair 


The  Double  Transformation. 


Could  Cupid's  shaft  at  length  transfix 
Our  swain,  arriv'd  at  thirty-six  ? 
O  had  the  archer  ne'er  come  down 
To  ravage  in  a  country  town  ! 
Or  Flavia  been  content  to  stop 
At  triumphs  in  a  Fleet-street  shop  ; 
O  had  her  eyes  forgot  to  blaze  ! 
Or  Jack  had  wanted  eyes  to  gaze  ; 

Oh  ! But  let  exclamation  cease, 

Her  presence  banish'd  all  his  peace. 
So  with  decorum  all  things  carry'd, 
Miss  frown'd,  and  blush'd,  and  then  was  married. 

The  honey-moon  like  lightning  flew, 
The  second  brought  its  transports  too ; 
A  third,  a  fourth,  were  not  amiss ; 
The  fifth  was  friendship  mix'd  with  bliss  ; 
But  when  a  twelvemonth  pass'd  away 
Jack  found  his  goddess  made  of  clay  ; 
Found  half  the  charms  that  deck'd  her  face 
Arose  from  powder,  shreds,  or  lace  ; 
But  still  the  worst  remain'd  behind  ; 
That  very  face  had  robb'd  her  mind. 

Skill'd  in  no  other  arts  was  she, 
But  dressing,  patching,  repartee  ; 
And,  just  as  humour  rose  or  fell, 
By  turns  a  slattern  or  a  belle. 
'Tis  true  she  dress'd  with  modern  grace, 
Half  naked  at  a  ball  or  race  ; 
But  when  at  home,  at  board  or  bed, 
Five  greasy  night-caps  wrap'd  her  head. 
Could  so  much  beauty  condescend 
To  be  a  dull  domestic  friend  ? 
Could  any  curtain  lectures  bring 
To  decency  so  fine  a  thing? 

130 


T/ie  Double  Transformation. 


In  short,  by  nighf.  'i\\;i-  tit-  <>r  1'ivttin^  ; 

By  day,  'twas  gadding  <n-  coquetting. 

Fond  to  be  scon,  slit-  kept  a  bevy 

Of  powdcr'd  coxcomb.-,  at  her  levy  ; 

The  'squire  and  captain  took  their  stations. 

And  twenty  other  near  relations. 

Jack  suek'd  his  pipe,  and  often  broke 

A  sigh  in  suffocating  smoke ; 

While  all  their  hours  were  pass'd  between 

Insulting  repartee  or  spleen. 

Thus  as  her  faults  each  day  were  known, 
lie  thinks  her  features  coarser  grown  ; 
He  fancies  every  vice  she  shews, 
Or  thins  her  lips,  or  points  her  nose : 
AVhenevcr  rage  or  envy  rise 
How  wide  her  mouth,  how  wild  her  eyes  ! 
He  knows  not  how,  but  so  it  is, 
Her  face  is  grown  a  knowing  phiz ; 
And  though  her  fops  are  wondrous  civil, 
He  thinks  her  ugly  as  the  devil. 

Now  to  perplex  the  revel'd  uoose, 
As  each  a  different  way  pursues, 
While  sullen  or  loquacious  strife, 
Promis'd  to  hold  them  on  for  life, 
That  dire  disease,  whose  ruthless  power 
Withers  the  beauty's  transient  flower ! 
Lo  !  the  small-pox,  whose  horrid  glare 
LevelFd  its  terrors  at  the  fair ; 
And,  rifling  every  youthful  grace, 
Left  but  the  remnant  of  a  face. 

The  gloss  grown  hateful  to  her  sight, 
Reflected  now  a  perfect  fright  : 
Each  former  ait  she  vainly  tries 
To  bring  buck  lustre  to  her  eyes. 

131 


The  Double  Transformation. 


In  vain  she  tries  her  paste  and  creams, 
To  smooth  her  skin,  or  hide  its  seams  ; 
Her  country  beaux  and  city  cousins, 
Lovers  no  more,  flew  off"  by  dozens  : 
The  'squire  himself  was  seen  to  yield, 
And  e'en  the  captain  quit  the  field. 

Poor  madam  now,  condemn'd  to  hack 
The  rest  of  life  with  anxious  Jack, 
Perceiving  others  fairly  flown, 
Attempted  pleasing  him  alone. 
Jack  soon  was  dazzled  to  behold 
Her  present  face  surpass  the  old  ; 
With  modesty  her  cheeks  are  dy'd, 
Humility  displaces  pride ; 
For  tawdry  finery  is  seen 
A  person  ever  neatly  clean  : 
No  more  presuming  on  her  sway, 
She  learns  good  nature  every  day  : 
Serenely  gay  and  strict  in  duty, 
Jack  finds  his  wife  a  perfect  beauty. 


THIRTY-FIVE. 


DR.  SAMUEL  JOHNSON.1 


FT  in  danger,  yet  alive, 
We  are  come  to  thirty-five ; 
Long  may  better  years  arrive, 
Better  years  than  thirty-five  ! 

Could  philosophers  contrive 

Life  to  stop  at  thirty-five, 

Time  his  hours  should  never  drive 

O'er  the  bounds  of  thirty -five. 

High  to  soar,  and  deep  to  dive, 

Nature  gives  at  thirty-five. 

Ladies,  stock  and  tend  your  hive, 

Trifle  not  at  thirty-five  ; 

For,  howe'er  we  boast  and  strive, 

Life  declines  from  thirty-five. 

He  that  ever  hopes  to  thrive 

Must  begin  by  thirty-five ; 

And  all  who  wisely  wish  to  wive 

Must  look  on  Thrale  at  thirty-five. 

1   Addressed  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  on  her  completing  her  thirty-fifth  year. 
133 


Q 


THE  GASCON. 


M.  P.  J.  CHARRIN.        TRANSLATED  BY  W.  H.  WILLS. 


HERE  are  Gascons,  I'm  told,  not  a  few. 
Whose  tongues  are  so  glib, 
That  they  fib 
Every  day ; 

But,  Parblieu, 
You  may  always  believe  what  /  say. 

I'm  a  noble  of  France  by. descent, 

Through  an  old  and  illustrious  line. 
But  the  title  unhappily  went 

To  my  uncle,  the  Duke  of  Gascoiue, 

And  his  fortune  is  properly  mine. 
To  law  I  should  go,  'twas  agreed, 

Attorneys  and  counsel  employ'd  ; 
But  in  seeking  an  old  title-deed, 

I  found  it  by  rats  quite  destroy'd. 


Gascon. 


tiillr-  ne'er  trouble  rne  much, 

For,  tluink  Fortune,  I'm  rich  as  a  Jew  : 
So,  my  friend,  should  your  fate  e'er  be  such 

To  require  of  hundreds  a  few, 

Don't  l»c  shy,  l>ut  demand  them — pray,  do  ! 
"  Accommodate  you  ?"    Without  doubt ; 

Though,  just  now,  I'm  unable  to  lend  ; 
With  money  I  never  come  out, 

But  rely  on  the  purse  of  a  friend. 


Could  you  see  me  at  home,  you  would  find 
That  my  house  is  a  model  of  taste  ; 

Silk  tapestries,  embroider'd  and  lined, 
Dresden  vases  on  buhl  tables  placed, 
And  walls  with  gilt  cornices  graced. 

But  the  crowds,  whom  it  used  to  attract, 
Have  induced  me  to  let  it  on  lease  ; 

And  I  lodge  in  a  lane — 'tis  a  fact — 
For  the  sake  of  a  month  or  two's  peace. 

I'd  advise  you,  my  friend,  not  to  doubt, 
For  you  know  what  a  fencer  I  am  ; 

Provoke  me  too  much,  and  one  'bout 
Will  show  I'm  by  no  means  a  lamb, 
And  that  fighting  with  me  is  no  sham. 

Were  my  passion  not  easily  ruled, 
I  should  average  a  victim  a-day : 

Yet,  insulted,  my  anger's  soon  cool'd  ; 
I  forgive,  and  walk  bravely  away. 

You're  aware,  as  an  author  I  shine  ; 
The  Academic  Royale  Franchise 

Acknowledged  my  writings  were  fine, 
To  my  genius  they  gave  every  praise : 
Sublime,  they  declared,  were  my  lavs. 

135 


The  Gascon. 


"  Their  titles?"  Alas  !  'twas  my  fate 
To  be  robb'd  of  my  justly-earn'd  fame, 

Himself,  a  false  friend,  to  elate, 

Stole,  and  publish'd  them  under  his  name. 

For  composing  love-songs,  I  am  bless'd 
With  a  skill  to  which  few  can  compare, 

My  brain  is  for  ever  possess'd 
With  many  a  beautiful  air, 
Join'd  to  couplets  exceedingly  rare. 

You  may  judge  for  yourself  when  you  hear — 
Though  the  merit  I  never  have  sought — 

That  as  Favart's  and  Panard's  appear, 
The  songs  I  had  previously — thought. 

"  Can  I  dance?"    What  a  question  to  ask ! 

You  will  find  that  at  every  ball 
In  the  sunshine  of  plaudits  I  bask, 

My  minuet  steps  are  quite  gall 

To  the  eyes  of  both  Vestris  and  Paul. 
"  A  specimen  ?"    Dreadful  mischance  ! 

I  am  lame,  you  may  easily  see  ; 
Last  night,  at  the  countess's  dance, 

I  tumbled  and  damaged  my  knee. 

As  a  patriot,  I  glory  in  arms, 

My  country  has  witness'd  my  zeal ; 

And,  amidst  battle's  fiercest  alarms, 
My  life  has  been  risk'd  for  her  weal : 
To  the  honours  I've  gain'd  I  appeal. 

But  my  crosses  and  orders  to  wear, 
My  modesty  never  allows  ; 

For  with  envy  they  make  equals  stare, 
And  inferiors  fatigue  me  with  bows. 

I  am  popular,  too,  'mongst  the  fair  ; 
But  a  marriage  I  never  have  risk'd, 

136 


The  Gascon. 


Though  very  large  fortune  to  share. 

.Many  excellent  matches  I've  miss'd — 

I  have  fifty,  at  least,  on  my  list. 
You  ask  for  my  proofs?    They're  denied, 

For  most  of  the  fair  ones,  you  see, 
Hroken-hearted  or  jealous,  have  died, 

Overwhelm'cl  by  their  passion  for  ine. 

There  are  Gascons,  I'm  told,  not  a  few, 
Whose  tongues  ore  so  glib, 
That  they  fib 
Every  day ; 

But,  Pnrblieu, 

You  may  always  believe  what  /  say. 


137 


PROLOGUE  TO  BARBAEOSSA. 

GAEBICK.   . 

EASTEB!  measter! 
Is  not  my  measter  here  among  you,  pray  ? 
Nay  speak — my  measter  wrote  this  fine  new  play- 
The  actor-folks  ai'e  making  such  a  clatter ! 

They  want  the  pro-log — I  know  nought  o'  the  matter : 

He  must  be  there  among  you — look  about — 

A  wezen  pale-faced  mon — do  find  him  out. 

Pray,  measter,  come,  or  all  will  fall  to  sheame ; 

Call  Mister — hold — I  must  not  tell  his  neame. 

La !  what  a  crowd  is  here  !  what  noise  and  pother ! 
Fine  lads  and  lasses  !  one  atop  o'  t'other. 

138 


Prologue  to  Bar  bar  oss  a. 


I  could  for  ever  here  with  wonder  gaze  ! 

I  ne'er  saw  church  no  full  in  all  my  <las- ! 

Your  servants,  Sire — what  do  you  laugh  for,  eh  ? 

You  dinna  take  me,  sure,  for  one  o'  the  play? 

You  should  not  flout  an  honest  country  lad — 

You  think  me  fool,  and  I  think  you  half  mad  : 

You're  all  as  strange  as  I,  and  stranger  too  ; 

And,  if  you  laugh  at  me,  I'll  laugh  at  you. 

I  donna  like  your  London  tricks,  not  I : 

And,  since  you've  raised  my  blood,  I'll  tell  you  why  : 

And,  if  you  wull,  since  now  I  am  before  ye, 

For  want  of  pro-log,  I'll  relate  my  story. 

I  came  from  country  here  to  try  my  fate, 
And  get  a  place  among  the  rich  and  great : 
But  troth,  I'm  sick  o'  th'  journey.  I  ha'  ta'en  : 
I  like  it  not — would  I  were  whoame  again ! 

First,  in  the  city  I  took  up  my  station, 
And  got  a  place  with  one  o'  th'  corporation  ; 
A  round  big  man — he  eat  a  plaguy  deal ; 
Zooks  !  he'd  have  beat  five  ploomen  at  a  meal ! 
But  long  with  him  I  could  not  make  abode, 
For,  could  you  think't  ?  he  eat  a  great  sea-toad  ! 
It  came  from  Indies — 'twas  as  big  as  me  ; 
lie  call'd  it  belly-patch,  and  cap-a-pee  : 
La  !  how  I  stared  ! — 1  thought — who  knows  but  I, 
For  want  of  monsters,  may  be  made  a  pie  ? 
Rather  than  tarry  here  for  bribe  or  gain, 
I'll  back  to  whoame,  and  country  fare  again. 
I  left  toad-eater ;  then  I  served  a  lord, 
And  there  they  promised,  but  ne'er  kept  their  word. 
While  'mong  great  folks  this  gaming  work  the  trade  is, 
They  mind  no  more  poor  servants  than  their  ladies. 
A  lady  next,  who  liked  a  smart  young  lad, 
Hired  me  forthwith,  but  troth,  I  thought  her  mad. 

139 


Prologue  to  Earbarossa. 


She  turn'd  the  world  top-down,  as  one  may  say. 
She  changed  day  into  neet,  neet  into  day. 
I  was  so  sheam'd  with  all  her  freakish  ways, 
She  wore  her  gear  so  short,  so  low  her  stays — 
Fine  folks  show  all  for  nothing  now-a-days. 
Now  I'm  the  poet's  mon — I  find  with  wits 
There's  nothing  sartain — nay,  we  eat  by  fits. 
Our  meals,  indeed,  are  slender — what  of  that, 
There  are  but  three  on's,  measter,  me,  and  cat. 
Did  you  but  see  us  all,  as  I'm  a  sinner, 
You'd  scarcely  say  which  of  the  three  is  thinner ; 
My  wages  all  depend  on  this  night's  piece, 
But  should  you  find  that  all  our  swans  are  geese, 
'Efeck,  I'll  trust  no  more  to  measter' s  brain, 
But  pack  up  all,  and  whistle  whoame  again. 


THE  BARBER'S  NUPTIALS. 


fi  X  Liquorpond  street,  as  is  well  known  to  many, 
An  artist  resided,  who  shaved  for  a  penny, 
Cut  hair  for  three  halfpence,  for  threepence  he  hied, 
And  would  draw  for  a  groat  every  tooth  in  your  head. 

What  annoy'd  other  folks  never  spoil'd  his  repose, 
'Twas  the  same  thing  to  him  whether  stocks  fell  or  rose : 
For  hlast  and  for  mildew  he  cared  not  a  pin, 
His  crops  never  fail'd.  for  they  grew  on  the  chin. 

Unvex'd  by  the  cares  that  ambition  and  state  has, 
Contented  he  dined  on  his  daily  potatoes ; 


The  Barber  s  Nuptials. 


And  the  pence  that  he  earn'd  by  excision  of  bristle, 
Were  nightly  devoted  to  wetting  his  whistle. 

When  copper  ran  low,  he  made  light  of  the  matter, 
Drank  his  purl  upon  tick  at  the  Old  Pewter  Platter. 
Read  the  news,  and  as  deep  in  the  secret  appear'd, 
As  if  he  had  lather'd  the  minister's  beard. 

But  Cupid,  who  trims  men  of  ev'ry  station, 

And  'twixt  barbers  and  beaus  makes  no  discrimination, 

Would  not  let  this  superlative  shaver  alone, 

Till  he  tried  if  his  heart  was  as  hard  as  his  hone. 

The  fair  one,  whose  charms  did  the  barber  enthral, 
At  the  end  of  Fleet  Market,  of  fish  kept  a  stall, 
As  red  as  her  cheek  was  no  lobster  e'er  seen ; 
Not  an  eel  that  she  sold  was  so  soft  as  her  skin. 

By  love  strange  effects  have  been  wrought,  we  are  told, 
In  all  countries  and  climates,  hot,  temp'rate,  or  cold ; 
Thus  the  heart  of  our  barber  love  scorch'd  like  a  coal, 
Though  'tis  very  well  known  he  lived  under  the  pole. 

First,  he  courted  his  charmer  in  sorrowful  fashion, 
And  lied,  like  a  lawyer,  to  move  her  compassion  : 
He  should  perish,  he  swore,  did  his  suit  not  succeed, 
And  a  barber  to  slay  was  a  barbarous  deed. 

Then  he  alter'd  his  tone,  and  was  heard  to  declare, 
If  valour  deserved  the  regard  of  the  fair, 
That  his  courage  was  tried,  though  he  scorn'd  to  disclose 
How  many  brave  fellows  he'd  took  by  the  nose. 

For  his  politics,  too,  they  were  thoroughly  known, 
A  patriot  he  was  to  the  very  back  bone  ; 
Wilkes  he  gratis  had  shaved  for  the  good  of  the  nation, 
And  he  held  the  Wig  Club  in  profound  veneration. 


77/f  Barber's  Nuptials. 


For  his  tenets  religious — he  could  well  expound 
Emanucl  Swedenhorg's  mystericH  profound, 
And  new  doctrines  could  broach  with  the  hot  uf  Yin  all, 
For  a  periwig-maker  ne'er  wanted  a  caul. 

Indignant,  she  answer'd,  "  No  chin-scraping  sot 
Shall  ho  fasten'd  to  me  by  the  conjugal  knot ; 
No  !  to  Tyburn  repair,  if  a  noose  you  must  tie, 
Other  fish  I  have  got,  Mr.  Tonsor.  to  fry : 

'•  Holhorn-bridge  and  Blackfriars'  my  triumphs  can  tell, 
From  Billingsgate  beauties  I've  long  borne  the  bell : 
Nay  tripe-men,  and  fishmongers,  vie  for  my  favour; — 
Then  d'ye  think  I'd  take  up  with  a  two-penny  shaver  ? 

"  Let  dory,  or  turbot,  the  sov'reign  of  fish, 

Cheek  by  jowl  with  red  herring  be  served  in  one  dish, 

Let  sturgeon  and  sprats  in  one  pickle  unite, 

When  I  angle  for  husbands,  and  barbers  shall  bite." 

But  the  barber  persisted  (ah  !  could  I  relate  'em) 
To  ply  her  with  compliments  soft  as  pomatum  : 
And  took  every  occasion  to  flatter  and  praise  her, 
Till  she  fancied  his  wit  was  as  keen  as  his  razor. 

He  protested,  besides,  if  she'd  grant  his  petition, 
She  should  live  like  a  lady  of  rank  and  condition, 
And  to  Billingsgate  Market  no  longer  repair, 
But  himself  all  her  business  would  do  to  a  hair. 

Her  smiles,  he  asserted,  would  melt  even  rocks, 
Nay,  the  fire  of  her  eyes  would  consume  barbers'  blocks, 
On  insensible  objects  bestow  animation, 
And  give  to  old  periwigs  regeneration. 

With  fair  speeches  cajoled,  as  you  tickle  a  trout, 
'liuin.st  the  barber  the  fish -wife  no  more  could  hold  out : 
141 


The  Barber  s  Nuptials. 


He  applied  the  right  bait,  and  with  flattery  he  caught  her  ; 
With  flatt'ry  a  female's  a  fish  out  of  water. 

The  state  of  her  heart  when  the  barber  once  guess'd, 
Love's  siege  with  redoubled  exertion  he  press'd, 
And  as  briskly  bestirr'd  him,  the  charmer  embracing, 
As  the  wash-ball  that  dances  and  froths  in  the  basin. 

The  flame  to  allay  their  bosoms  did  so  burn, 
They  set  out  for  the  church  of  St.  Andrew  in  Holborn, 
Where  tonsors  and  trulls,  country  Dicks  and  their  cousins, 
In  the  halter  of  wedlock  are  tied  up  by  dozens. 

The  nuptials  to  grace  came  from  every  quarter, 
The  worthies  at  Rag  Fair  old  caxons  who  barter. 
Who  the  coverings  of  judges  and  counsellors  robs: 
Cut  down  into  majors,  queues,  scratches,  and  bobs. 

Muscle-mongers  and  oyster-men,  crimps  and  coal-heavers, 
And  butchers,  with  marrow-bones  smiting  their  cleavers : 
Shrimp-scalders  and  mole-catchers,  tailors  and  tilers, 
Boys,  botchers,  bawds,  bailiffs,  and  black-pudding  boilers. 

From  their  voices  united  such  melody  flow'd 
As  the  Abbey  ne'er  witness'd,  nor  Tott'nham-court  Road  ; 
While  St.  Andrew's  bells  did  so  loud  and  so  clear  ring, 
You'd  given  ten  pound  to  've  been  out  of  their  hearing. 

For  his  fee,  when  the  parson  this  couple  had  join'd, 
As  no  cash  was  forthcoming,  he  took  it  in  kind  : 
So  the  bridegroom  dismantled  his  reverence's  chin, 
And  the  bride  entertain'd  him  with  pilchards  and  gin. 


MONSIEUR  TONSON. 


HERE  lived,  as  Fame  reports,  in  days  of  yore, 
At  least  some  fifty  years  ago,  or  more, 

A  pleasant  wight  on  Town,  yclep'd  Tom  King, 
A  fellow  that  was  clever  at  a  joke, 
Expert  in  all  the  arts  to  tcaze  and  smoke, 

In  short,  tor  strokes  of  humour,  quite  the  thing. 


1 1.-. 


Monsieur  Tonson. 


To  many  a  jovial  club  this  King  was  known, 
With  whom  his  active  wit  unrivall'd  shone : 

Choice  spirit,  grave  free-mason,  buck  and  blood, 
Would  crowd  his  stories  and  ban  mots  to  hear, 
And  none  a  disappointment  e'er  could  fear, 

His  humour  flow'd  in  such  a  copious  flood. 


To  him  a  frolic  was  a  high  delight : 

A  frolic  he  would  hunt  for,  day  and  night, 

Careless  how  prudence  on  the  sport  might  frown. 
If  e'er  a  pleasant  mischief  sprang  to  view, 
At  once  o'er  hedge  and  ditch  away  he  flew, 

Nor  left  the  game,  till  he  had  run  it  down. 


One  night,  our  hero,  rambling  with  a  friend, 
Near  famed  St.  Giles's  chanced  his  course  to  bend, 

Just  by  that  spot,  the  Seven  Dials  hight. 
'Twas  silence  all  around,  and  clear  the  coast. 
The  watch,  as  usual,  dozing  on  his  post, 

And  scarce  a  lamp  display'd  a  twinkling  light. 

Around  this  place,  there  lived  the  numerous  clans 
Of  honest,  plodding,  foreign  artizans, 

Known,  at  that  time,  by  name  of  refugees. 
The  rod  of  persecution,  from  their  home, 
Compell'd  the  inoffensive  race  to  roam, 

And  here  they  lighted,  like  a  swarm  of  bees. 

Well !  our  two  friends  were  saunt'ring  through  the  street, 
In  hopes  some  food  for  humour  soon  to  meet, 

When,  in  a  window  near,  a  light  they  view  ; 
And,  though  a  dim -and  melancholy  ray, 
It  seem'd  the  prologue  to  some  merry  play, 

So  tow'rds  the  gloomy  dome  our  hero  drew. 

146 


Monsieur  Tonson. 


Straight  at  the  door  he  gave  a  thund'ring  knock, 
(The  time  we  may  suppose  near  two  o'clock,) 

"  I'll  ask,"  says  King,  "  if  Thompson  lodges  here." 
"  Thompson,"  cries  t'other,  "  who  the  devil's  he?" 
•'  I  know  not,"  King  replies,  "  but  want  to  see 

What  kind  of  animal  will  now  appear." 


After  some  time,  a  little  Frenchman  came ; 

One  hand  display 'd  a  rushlight's  trembling  flame, 

The  other  held  a  thing  they  call'd  culotte, 
An  old  striped  woollen  night-cap  graced  his  head, 
A  tatter'd  waistcoat  o'er  one  shoulder  spread ; 

Scarce  half  awake,  he  heaved  a  yawning  note. 


Though  thus  untimely  roused  he  courteous  smiled, 
And  soon  address'd  our  wag  in  accents  mild, 

Bending  his  head  politely  to  his  knee — 
"  Pray,  sare,  vat  vant  you,  dat  you  come  so  late  ; 
I  beg  your  pardon,  sare,  to  make  you  vait ; 

Pray  tell  me,  sare,  vat  your  commands  vid  me  ? " 


"  Sir,"  reply'd  King,  "  I  merely  thought  to  know, 
As  by  your  house  I  chanced  to-night  to  go, 

(But,  really,  I  disturb'd  your  sleep,  I  fear,) 
I  say,  I  thought,  that  you  perhaps  could  tell, 
Among  the  folks  who  in  this  quarter  dwell, 

If  there's  a  Mr.  Thompson  lodges  here?" 


The  shiv'ring  Frenchman,  though  not  pleased  to  find 
The  business  of  this  unimportant  kind, 

Too  simple  to  suspect  'twas  meant  in  jeer, 
Shrugg'd  out  a  sigh  that  thus  his  rest  was  broke, 
Then,  with  unalter'd  courtesy,  he  spoke : 

"  No,  sare,  no  Monsieur  Tonson  lodges  here." 

147 


Monsieur  Tonson. 


Our  wag  begg'd  pardon,  and  toward  home  he  sped, 
While  the  poor  Frenchman  crawl'd  again  to  bed. 

But  King  resolved  not  thus  to  drop  the  jest, 
So,  the  next  night,  with  more  of  whim  than  grace, 
Again  he  made  a  visit  to  the  place, 

To  break  once  more  the  poor  old  Frenchman's  rest. 


He  knock'd — but  waited  longer  than  before  ; 
No  footstep  seem'd  approaching  to  the  door ; 

Our  Frenchman  lay  in  such  a  sleep  profound. 
King  with  the  knocker  thunder'd  then  again, 
Firm  on  his  post  determined  to  remain  ; 

And  oft,  indeed,  he  made  the  door  resound. 


At  last  King  hears  him  o'er  the  passage  creep, 
Wond'ring  what  fiend  again  disturb'd  his  sleep  : 

The  wag  salutes  him  with  a  civil  leer : 
Thus  drawling  out  to  heighten  the  surprize, 
While  the  poor  Frenchman  rubb'd  his  heavy  eyes, 

"  Is  there — a  Mr.  Thompson — lodges  here  ?" 


The  Frenchman  falter'd,  with  a  kind  of  fright, — 
"  Vy,  sare,  I'm  sure  I  told  you,  sare,  last  night — 

(And  here  he  labour'd  with  a  sigh  sincere,) 
"  No  Monsieur  Tonson  in  the  varld  I  know, 
No  Monsieur  Tonson  here — I  told  you  so  ; 

Indeed,  sare,  dare  no  Monsieur  Tonson  here ! " 


Some  more  excuses  tender'd,  off  King  goes, 
And  the  old  Frenchman  sought  once  more  repose. 

The  rogue  next  night  pursued  his  old  career. 
'Twas  long  indeed  before  the  man  came  nigh, 
And  then  he  utter' d,  in  a  piteous  cry, 

"  Sare,  'pon  my  soul,  no  Monsieur  Tonson  here !" 

148 


Monsieur  Tonson. 


Our  sportive  wight  his  usual  visit  paid, 

And  the  next  night  came  forth  a  prattling  maid, 

Whose  tongue,  indeed,  than  any  Jack  went  faster ; 
Anxious,  she  strove  his  errand  to  enquire, 
He  said  'twas  vain  her  pretty  tongue  to  tire, 

lie  should  not  stir  till  he  had  seen  her  master. 


The  damsel  then  hegan,  in  doleful  state, 
The  Frenchman's  broken  slumbers  to  relate, 

And  begg'd  he'd  call  at  proper  time  of  day. 
King  told  her  she  must  fetch  her  master  down, 
A  chaise  was  ready,  he  was  leaving  town, 

But  fii-st  had  much  of  deep  concern  to  say. 


Thus  urged,  she  went  the  snoring  man  to  call, 
And  long,  indeed,  was  she  obliged  to  bawl, 

Ere  she  could  rouse  the  torpid  lump  of  clay. 
At  last  he  wakes  ;  'he  rises ;  and  he  swears : 
But  scarcely  had  he  totter'd  down  the  stairs, 

When  King  attack'd  him  in  his  usual  way. 


The  Frenchman  now  perceived  'twas  all  hi  vain 
To  his  tormentor  mildly  to  complain, 

And  straight  in  rage  began  his  crest  to  rear : 
"  Sare,  vat  the  devil  make  you  treat  me  so  ? 
Sare,  I  inform  you,  sare,  three  nights  ago, 

Got  tarn — I  swear,  no  Monsieur  Tonson  here  ! " 


True  as  the  night,  King  went,  and  heard  a  strife 
Between  the  harass'd  Frenchman  and  his  wife, 

Which  would  descend  to  chase  the  fiend  away. 
At  length,  to  join  their  forces  and  agree, 
And  straight  impetuously  they  turn  the  key, 

Prepared  with  mutual  fury  for  the  fray. 

149 


Monsieur  'Tonson. 


Our  hero,  with  the  firmness  of  a  rock, 
Collected  to  receive  the  mighty  shock, 

Utt'ring  the  old  inquiry,  calmly  stood — 
The  name  of  Thompson  raised  the  storm  so  high, 
He  deem'd  it  then  the  safest  plan  to  fly, 

With  "  Well,  I'll  call  when  you're  in  gentler  mood." 


In  short,  our  hero,  with  the  same  intent, 

Full  many  a  night  to  plague  the  Frenchman  went- 

So  fond  of  mischief  was  the  wicked  wit : 
They  threw  out  water ;  for  the  watch  they  call ; 
But  King  expecting,  still  escapes  from  all — 

Monsieur  at  last  was  forced  his  house  to  quit. 


It  happen'd  that  our  wag,  about  this  time, 

On  some  fair  prospect  sought  the  eastern  clime, 

Six  ling' ring  years  were  there  his  tedious  lot. 
At  length,  content,  amid  his  rip'ning  store, 
He  treads  again  on  Britain's  happy  shore, 

And  his  long  absence  is  at  once  forgot. 


To  London,  with  impatient  hope,  he  flies, 
And  the  same  night,  as  former  freaks  arise, 

He  fain  must  stroll,  the  well-known  haunt  to  trace. 
"  Ah  !  here's  the  scene  of  frequent  mirth,"  he  said, 
"  My  poor  old  Frenchman,  I  suppose,  is  dead. 

Egad,  I'll  knock,  and  see  who  holds  his  place." 

With  rapid  strokes  he  makes  the  mansion  roar, 
And  while  he  eager  eyes  the  opening  door, 

Lo  !  who  obeys  the  knocker's  rattling  peal  ? 
Why,  e'en  our  little  Frenchman,  strange  to  say  ! 
He  took  his  old  abode  that  very  day — 

Capricious  turn  of  sportive  Fortune's  wheel  ! 
ISO 


Monsieur  Ton  son. 


Without  one  thought  of  the  relentless  foo, 
Who,  fiend-like,  haunted  him  so  long  ago, 

Just  in  his  former  trim  he  now  appears ; 
The  waistcoat  and  the  nightcap  sccm'd  the  same, 
With  rushlight,  as  before,  he,  creeping,  came, 

And  King's  detested  voice,  ostonish'd,  hears. 

As  if  some  hideous  spectre  struck  his  sight, 
His  senses  seem'd  bewilder'd  with  affright, 

His  face,  indeed,  bespoke  a  heart  full  sore — 
Then  starting,  he  exclaim'd,  in  rueful  strain, 
"  Begar !  here's  Monsieur  Tonson  come  again  !" 

Away  he  ran — and  ne'er  was  heard  of  more  ! 


THE  LITEKAKY  LADY. 

RICHARD    BRINSLEY    SHERIDAN. 

'HAT  motley  cares  Gorilla's  mind  perplex, 
Whom  maids  and  metaphors  conspire  to  vex  ! 
In  studious  dishabille  behold  her  sit, 
A  letter'd  gossip,  and  a  household  wit ; 

At  once  invoking,  though  for  different  views, 

Her  gods,  her  cook,  her  milliner  and  muse. 

Round  her  strew'd  room  a  frippery  chaos  lies, 

A  checker'd  wreck  of  notable  and  wise, 

Bills,  books,  caps,  couplets,  combs,  a  varied  mass, 

Oppress  the  toilet  and  obscure  the  glass  : 
IM 


The  Literary  Lady. 


Unfinished,  here  an  epigram  is  laid, 

And  there  a  mantua-maker's  bill  unpaid. 

There  new-born  plays  foretaste  the  town's  applause, 

There  dormant  patterns  pine  for  future  gauze. 

A  moral  essay  now  is  all  her  care, 

A  satire  next ;  and  then,  a  bill  of  fare. 


A  scene  she  now  projects,  and  now  a  dish  ; 

Here  Act  the  First,  and  here,  RemoA'e  with  Fish. 

Now,  while  this  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolls, 

That  soberly  casts  up  a  bill  for  coals ; 

Black  pins  and  daggers  in  one  leaf  she  sticks, 

And  tears,  and  threads,  and  bowls,  and  thimbles  mix. 


152 


THE  t'IXDER-KIN(i. 


MATTHKW  (iRKGORY  I.KWIS. 


HO  is  it  that  sits  in  the  kitchen,  and  weeps, 
While  tick  goes  the  clock,  and  the  tabby  cat  sleeps 
That  watches  the  grate,  without  ceasing  to  spy, 
Whether  purses  or  coffins  will  out  of  it  fly?" 


'Tis  Betty  ;  who  saw  the  false  tailor.  Bob  Scott, 
Lead  a  bride  to  the  altar  ;  which  bride  she  was  not : 
'Tis  Betty ;  determined,  love  from  her  to  fling, 
And  woo,  for  his  riches,  the  dark  Cinder-King. 

153  X 


'The  Cinder-King. 


Now  spent  tallow-candle-grease  fatten'd  the  soil, 
And  the  blue-burning  lamp  had  half  wasted  its  oil, 
And  the  black-beetle  boldly  came  crawling  from  far, 
And  the  red  coals  were  sinking  beneath  the  third  bar ; 

When  "  one"  struck  the  clock — and  instead  of  the  bird 
Who  used  to  sing  cuckoo  whene'er  the  clock  stirr'd, 
Out  burst  a  grim  raven,  and  utter'd  "  caw  !  caw  !" 
While  puss,  though  she  'woke,  durst  not  put  forth  a  claw. 

Then  the  jack  fell  a-going  as  if  one  should  sup, 

Then  the  hearth  rock'd  as  though  it  would  swallow  one  up ; 

With  fuel  from  hell,  a  strange  coal-scuttle  came, 

And  a  self-handled  poker  made  fearful  the  flame. 

A  cinder  shot  from  it,  of  size  to  amaze, 
(With  a  bounce,  such  as  Betty  ne'er  heard  in  her  days,) 
Thrice,  serpent-like  hiss'd,  as  its  heat  fled  away, 
And  lo  !  something  dark  in  a  vast  coffin  lay. 

— "  Come  Betty  !" — quoth  croaking  that  non-descript  thing. 
— "  Come  bless  the  fond  arms  of  your  true  Cinder-King  ! 
Three  more  Kings,  my  brothers,  are  waiting  to  greet  ye, 
Who^don't  take  it  ill ! — must  at  four  o'clock  eat  ye. 

"  My  darling,  it  must  be  !  do  make  up  your  mind  ; 
We  element  brothers,  united,  and  kind, 
Have  a  feast  and  a  wedding,  each  night  of  our  lives, 
So  constantly  sup  on  each  other's  new  wives." — 

In  vain  squall'd  the  cook-maid,  and  pray'd  not  to  wed ; 
Cinder  crunch'd  in  her  mouth,  cinder  rain'd  on  her  head, 
She  sank  in  the  coffin  with  cinders  strewn  o'er, 
And  coffin  nor  Betty  saw  man  any  more. 


154 


LODGIX(JS  FOR  SIX(iLK  GKNTI.LM  i:\. 


GEOROR  COLMAN  THE  YOUNOKK. 

1IO  lins  e'er  been  in  London,  that  overgrown  place, 
Has  seen  "  Lodgings  to  let"  stare  him  full  in  the  face  : 
Some  are  good,  and  let  dearly;  while  some,  'tis  well  known, 
Are  so  dear,  and  so  bad,  they  are  best  let  alone. 


Waddle,  whose  temper  was  studious  and  lonely, 
Hired  lodgings  that  took  single  gentlemen  only  ; 
But  Will  was  so  fat  he  appear'd  like  a  ton, 
Or  like  two  single  gentlemen  roll'd  into  one. 

He  enter'd  his  rooms,  and  to  bed  he  retreated  ; 
But,  all  the  night  long,  he  felt  fever'd  and  heated  ; 
And,  though  heavy  to  weigh  as  a  score  of  fat  sheep, 
He  was  not,  by  any  means,  heavy  to  sleep. 

Next  night  'twas  the  same.     And  the  next.     And  the  next  : 
He  perspired  like  an  ox  ;  he  was  nervous  and  vex'd  ; 
Week  past  after  week  ;  till,  by  weekly  succession, 
His  weakly  condition  was  past  all  expression. 

In  six  months,  his  acquaintance  began  much  to  doubt  him  : 

For  his  skin,  like  a  lady's  loose  gown,  hung  about  him. 

He  sent  for  a  doctor  ;  and  cried,  like  a  ninny, 

"  I  have  lost  many  pounds.    Make  me  well.    There's  a  guinea." 

The  doctor  look'd  wise  :  —  "  A  slow  fever,"  he  said  : 
Prescribed  sudorifics,  —  and  going  to  bed. 
"  Sudorifics  in  bed,"  exclaim'd  Will,  "  are  humbugs  ! 
I've  enough  of  them  there,  without  paying  for  drugs  !  " 

155 


Lodgings  for  Single  Gentlemen. 


Will  kick'd  out  the  doctor  : — but,  when  ill  indeed, 
E'en  dismissing  the  doctor  don't  always  succeed ; 
So,  calling  his  host,  he  said  : — "  Sir,  do  you  know, 
I'm  the  fat  single  gentleman,  six  months  ago  ? 

"  Look'e,  landlord,  I  think,"  argued  "Will,  with  a  grin, 
"  That  with  honest  intentions  you  first  took  me  in : 
But  from  the  first  night — and  to  say  it  I'm  bold — 
I  have  been  so  damn'd  hot,  that  I'm  sure  I  caught  cold." 

Quoth  the  landlord — "  Till  now,  I  ne'er  had  a  dispute ; 
I've  let  lodgings  ten  years  ;  I'm  a  baker,  to  boot ; 
In  airing  your  sheets,  Sir,  my  wife  is  no  sloven ; 
And  your  bed  is  immediately  over  my  oven." 

"  The  oven  !"  says  Will.     Says  the  host,  "  Why  this  passion? 
In  that  excellent  bed  died  three  people  of  fashion. 
Why  so  crusty,  good  Sir  ?" — "  Zounds  !"  cries  Will,  in  a  taking, 
"  Who  wouldn't  be  crusty,  with  half  a  year's  baking?" 

Will  paid  for  his  rooms : — cried  the  host,  with  a  sneer, 

"  Well,  I  see  you've  been  going  away  half  a  year." 

"  Friend,  we  can't  well  agree, — yet  no  quarrel" — Will  said  ; — 

"  But  I'd  rather  not  perish,  while  you  make  your  bread." 


156 


THE  NEWCASTLE  APOTHECARY. 


GEORGE  COLMAN  THE  YOUNGER. 


MAN,  in  many  a  country  town,  we  know. 
Professes  openly  with  death  to  wrestle  ; 

Ent'ring  the  field  against  the  grimly  foe, 
Arm'd  with  a  mortar  and  a  pestle. 


Yet,  some  affirm,  no  enemies  they  are ; 
But  meet  just  like  prize-fighters,  in  a  fair, 
Who  first  shake  hands  before  they  box, 
Then  give  each  other  plaguy  knocks, 
With  all  the  love  and  kindness  of  a  brother : 
So,  many  a  suff'ring  patient  saith. 
Though  the  Apothecary  fights  with  Death, 
Still  they're  sworn  friends  to  one  another. 

157 


The  Newcastle  Apothecary. 


A  member  of  this  ^Esculapian  line 
Lived  at  Newcastle-upon-Tyne : 
No  man  could  better  gild  a  pill, 

Or  make  a  bill, 

Or  mix  a  draught,  or  bleed,  or  blister, 
Or  draw  a  tooth  out  of  your  head, 
Or  chatter  scandal  by  your  bed, 

Or  give  a  clyster. 

Of  occupations  these  were  quantum  suff.  : 
Yet,  still,  he  thought  the  list  not  long  enough  ; 

And  therefore  midwifery  he  chose  to  pin  to't. 
This  balanced  things  : — for  if  he  hurl'd 
A  few  score  mortals  from  the  world, 

He  made  amends  by  bringing  others  into't. 

His  fame  full  six  miles  round  the  country  ran  ; 

In  short,  in  reputation  he  was  solus : 
All  the  old  women  call'd  him  "  a  tine  man ! " 

His  name  was  Bolus. 

Benjamin  Bolus,  though  in  trade, 
(Which  oftentimes  will  genius  fetter) 

Read  works  of  fancy,  it  is  said, 
And  cultivated  the  Belles  Lettres. 

And  why  should  this  be  thought  so  odd  ? 

Can't  men  have  taste  who  cure  a  phthisic  ; 
Of  poetry  though  patron -god, 

Apollo  patronises  physic. 

Bolus  loved  verse  ; — and  took  so  much  delight  in't, 
That  his  prescriptions  he  resolved  to  write  in't. 

No  opportunity  he  e'er  let  pass 

Of  writing  the  directions,  on  his  labels, 
In  dapper  couplets, — like  Gay's  Fables  ; 

Or,  rather,  like  the  lines  in  Hudibras. 

153 


The  Newcastle  Apothecary. 


Apothecary's  verso  !     And  where's  the  treason  ? 

'Tis  simply  honest  dealing  : — not  a  crime  ; — 
When  patients  swallow  physic  without  reason, 

It  is  but  fair  to  give  a  little  rhyme. 


lie  had  a  patient  lying  at  death's  door, 

Some  three  miles  from  the  town, — it  might  he  four  ; 

To  whom,  one  evening,  Bolus  sent  an  article, 

In  Pharmacy,  that's  call'd  cathartical, 

And,  on  the  label  of  the  stuff, 

He  wrote  this  verse  ; 
Which,  one  would  think,  was  clear  enough, 

And  terse  : — 


"  W7ien  taken, 
To  be  well  s7iaken." 

Next  morning,  early,  Bolus  rose ; 
And  to  the  patient's  house  he  goes ; — 

Upon  his  pad, 

Who  a  vile  trick  of  stumbling  had  : 
It  was,  indeed,  a  very  sorry  hack  ; 

But  that's  of  course : 

For  what's  expected  from  a  horse 
With  an  Apothecary  on  his  back  ? 
Bolus  arrived  ;  and  gave  a  doubtful  tap, 
Between  a  single  and  a  double  rap. 


Knocks  of  this  kind 
Are  given  by  gentlemen  who  teach  to  dance  ; 

By  fiddlers,  and  by  opera-singers  : 
One  loud,  and  then  a  little  one  behind  ; 
As  if  the  knocker  fell,  by  chance. 

Out  of  their  fingers. 

159 


The  Newcastle  Apothecary. 


The  servant  lets  him  in,  with  dismal  face, 
Long  as  a  courtier's  out  of  place — 

Portending  some  disaster ; 
John's  countenance  as  rueful  look'd,  and  grim, 
As  if  th'  Apothecary  had  physick'd  him, 

And  not  his  master. 
"  Well,  how's  the  patient?"    Bolus  said. 

John  shook  his  head. 
"  Indeed  ! — hum  !  ha  ! — that's  very  odd  ! 
He  took  the  draught  ?  "    John  gave  a  nod. 
"  Well, — how  ? — what  then  ? — speak  out,  you  dunce  ! " 
"  Why  then,"  says  John,  "  we  shook  him  once." 
"  Shook  him  !  How?" — Bolus  stammer'd  out. 

"  We  jolted  him  about." 

"  Zounds  !    Shake  a  patient,  man  ! — a  shake  won't  do." 
"  No,  Sir, — and  so  we  gave  him  two" 
"  Two  shakes  !  od's  curse  ! 
'Twould  make  the  patient  worse." 
"  It  did  so,  Sir  ! — and  so  a  third  we  tried." 
"  Well,  and  what  then?" — "  Then,  Sir,  my  master  died." 


160 


THE  TOPER  AND  THE  FLIES. 


I'KTKU  PIXDAH. 


GROUP  of  topers  at  a  table  sat, 

With  punch  that  much  regales  the  thirsty  soul : 
Flies  soon  the  party  join'd,  and  join'd  the  chat, 

Bamming,  and  pitching  round  the  mantling  howl. 


At  length  those  flies  got  drunk,  and  for  their  sin, 
Some  hundreds  lost  their  legs  and  tumbled  in  ; 
And  sprawling  'midst  the  gulph  profound, 
I -ike  Pharaoh  and  bis  daring  host,  were  drown'd. 


The  Toper  and  the  Flies. 


Wanting  to  drink — one  of  the  men 

Dipp'd  from  the  bowl  the  drunken  host, 

And  drank — then  taking  care  that  none  were  lost, 

He  put  in  ev'ry  mother's  son  agen. 

Up  jump'd  the  Bacchanalian  crew  on  this, 
Taking  it  very  much  amiss — 

Swearing,  and  in  the  attitude  to  smite : — 

"  Lord !"  cried  the  man  with  gravely-lifted  eyes, 
"  Though  I  don't  like  to  swallow  flies, 

I  did  not  know  but  others  might." 


162 


i 


TIIK  APPLE  DUMPLINGS  AND  A  KING. 


PETER  PINDAK. 

NCE  on  a  time,  a  Monarch,  tired  with  hooping, 
"Whipping  and  spurring, 
Happy  in  worrying 
A  poor,  defenceless,  harmless  buck, 
The  horse  and  rider  wet  as  muck, 
From  his  high  consequence  and  wisdom  stooping, 
Enter'd,  through  curiosity,  a  cot, 
Where  sat  a  poor  old  woman  with  her  pot. 


The  wrinkled,  blear-eyed,  good  old  granny, 
In  this  same  cot  illum'd  by  many  a  cranny, 

Had  finish'd  apple  dumplings  for  her  pot: 
In  tempting  row  the  naked  dumplings  lay, 
When,  lo !  the  Monarch,  in  his  usual  way, 

Like  lightning  spoke,  "  What's  this?  what's  this?  what?  what?" 

163 


The  Apple  Dumplings  and  a  King. 


Then  taking  up  a  dumpling  in  his  hand, 
His  eyes  with  admiration  did  expand — 

And  oft  did  Majesty  the  dumpling  grapple : 
"  'Tis  monstrous,  monstrous  hard  indeed,"  he  cried  : 
"  What  makes  it,  pray,  so  hard?" — The  dame  replied, 

Low  curtsying,  "  Please  your  Majesty,  the  apple." 

"  Very  astonishing  indeed  ! — strange  thing  !" 
Turning  the  dumpling  round,  rejoin'd  the  King. 
"  'Tis  most  extraordinary  then,  all  this  is — 
It  beats  Pinetti's  conjuring  all  to  pieces — 
Strange  I  should  never  of  a  dumpling  dream — 
But,  Goody,  tell  me  where,  where,  where's  the  seam?" 

"  Sir,  there's  no  seam,"  quoth  she ;  "  I  never  knew 
That  folks  did  apple  dumplings  sew." — 
"  No  ?"  cried  the  staring  Monarch  with  a  grin, 
"  How,  how  the  devil  got  the  apple  in?" 

Reader,  thou  likest  not  my  tale — look'st  blue — 
Thou  art  a  courtier — roarest  "  Lies,  Lies,  Lies  ! " 
Do,  for  a  moment,  stop  thy  cries — 

I  tell  thee,  roaring  infidel,  'tis  true. 

Why  should  it  not  be  true  ?  the  greatest  men 
May  ask  a  foolish  question  now  and  then — 

This  is  the  language  of  all  ages : 
Folly  lays  many  a  trap — we  can't  escape  it  : 
Nemo  (says  some  one)  omnibus  horis  sapit : 

Then  why  not  Kings,  like  me  and  other  sages? 


16-1 


THE  PILGRIMS  AND  THE  PEAS. 


I'KTKIl   IMMt.Ut. 


BRACE  of  sinners,  for  no  good, 

Were  order 'd  to  the  Virgin  Mary's  shrine, 
Who  at  Loretto  dwelt,  in  wax,  stone,  wood, 

And  in  a  fair  white  wig  lonk'd  wond'rous  fine. 


Fifty  long  miles  hail  those  sad  rogues  to  travel, 

With  something  in  their  shoes  much  worse  than  gravel  : 

165 


The  Pilgrims  and  the  Peas. 


In  short,  their  toes  so  gentle  to  amuse, 

The  priest  had  order'd  peas  into  their  shoes  : 

A  nostrum,  famous  in  old  popish  times, 
For  purifying  souls  that  stunk  with  crimes  ; 

A  sort  of  apostolic  salt, 
That  popish  parsons  for  its  power  exalt, 
For  keeping  souls  of  sinners  sweet, 
Just  as  our  kitchen-salt  keeps  meat. 

The  knaves  set  off  on  the  same  day, 
Peas  in  their  shoes,  to  go  and  pray : 

But  very  different  was  their  speed,  I  wot  : 
One  of  the  sinners  gallopp'd  on, 
Light  as  a  bullet  from  a  gun  ; 

The  other  limp'd  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

One  saw  the  Virgin  soon — -peccavi  cried  — 

Had  his  soul  whitewash'd  all  so  clever ; 
Then  home  again  he  nimbly  hied, 

Made  fit  with  saints  above  to  live  for  ever. 

In  coming  back,  however,  let  me  say, 

He  met  his  brother-rogue  about  half  way, 

Hobbling  with  outstretch'd  hams  and  bended  knees, 

Damning  the  souls  and  bodies  of  the  peas ; 

His  eyes  in  tears,  his  cheeks  and  brows  in  sweat, 

Deep  sympathizing  with  his  groaning  feet. 

"  How  now,"  the  light-toed,  white-wash'd  pilgrim  broke, 

"  You  lazy  lubber  !" 

"  Odds  curse  it ! "  cried  the  other,  "  'tis  no  joke  ; 
My  feet,  once  hard  as  any  rock, 

Are  now  as  soft  as  blubber. 

"  Excuse  me,  Virgin  Mary,  that  I  swear : 
As  for  Loretto,  I  shall  not  get  there  ; 

166 


The  Pilgrims  and  the  Peas. 


No!   to  the  l>'-\il  my  -infill  -mil  iuu>t  go. 
For  hang  me  if  I  ha'n't  lost  every  toe. 

"  But,  brother  sinner,  do  explain 
How  'tis  that  you  are  not  in  pain  ? 

What  power  hath  workM  a  wonder  for  your  toes  ? 
Whilst  I,  just  like  a  simil,  am  crawling, 
Xow  swearing,  now  on  saints  devoutly  bawling, 

Whilst  not  a  rascal  comes  to  ease  my  woes  ? 

"  How  is't  that  you  can  like  u  greyhound  go, 
Merry,  as  if  nought  had  happen'd,  burn  ye?" 

"  Why,"  cried  the  other,  grinning,  "  you  must  know. 

That,  just  before  I  ventured  on  my  journey, 
To  walk  a  little  more  at  ease, 
I  took  the  liberty  to  boil  my  peas." 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  TOOTHACHE. 

ROBERT  BURNS. 

Y  curse  upon  thy  venom' d  stang,1 
That  shoots  my  tortured  gums  alang ; 
And  through  my  lugs  gies  mony  a  twang, 

Wi'  gnawing  vengeance ; 
Tearing  my  nerves  wi'  bitter  pang, 

Like  racking  engines ! 

When  fevers  burn,  or  ague  freezes, 
Rheumatics  gnaw,  or  cholic  squeezes ; 
Our  neighbour's  sympathy  may  ease  us, 

Wi'  pitying  moan ; 
But  thee — thou  hell  o'  a'  diseases, 

Aye  mocks  our  groan  ! 

O'  a'  the  num'rous  human  dools,2 

111  har'sts,3  daft  bargains,  cutty-stools, 

Or  worthy  friends  raked  i'  the  mools,4 

Sad  sight  to  see  ! 
The  tricks  o'  knaves,  or  fash5  o'  fools — 

Thou  bear'st  the  gree.6 

Where'er  that  place  be  priests  ca'  hell, 
Whence  a'  the  tones  o'  misery  yell, 
And  ranked  plagues  their  numbers  tell, 

In  dreadfu'  raw, 
Thou,  Toothache,  surely  bear'st  the  bell 

Amang  them  a' ! 

Pain.  2  Sorrows.  'Harvests.          4  Buried.          5  Trouble.  6  Palm. 

168 


Address  to  the  Toothache. 


O  i  In  MI  -rim  mi.schief-mnkiiig  clue), 
Thut  gars7  the  notes*  of  ditKrurd  squeel, 
Till  daft  iiuiiikind  uft  dunce  a  reel 

In  gore  a  nhoe-thiek, 
(fie  u'  the  faes8  o'  Scotland's  weul 

A  tomnond's*  toothaohe ! 

M.ik.  s.  •  Koea.  "  Year. 


EPIGRAM. 


JOHN  DOXXE. 


[  HY  flattering  picture,  Phryne,  's  like  to  thee 
\  Only  in  this,  that  you  both  painted  be. 


NOTHING. 


GOETHE.       TRANSLATED  BY  J.  S.  DWIGHT. 


^OT^.  'VE  set  my  heart  upon  nothing,  you  see ; 

Hurrah! 
fi    And  so  the  world  goes  well  with  me. 

Hurrah  ! 

And  who  has  a  mind  to  be  fellow  of  mine, 

Why,  let  him  take  hold  and  help  me  drain 

These  mouldy  lees  of  wine. 

I  set  my  heart  at  first  upon  wealth  ; 

Hurrah ! 
And  barter'd  away  my  peace  and  health  ; 

But,  ah ! 


Not /ling. 


The  slippery  change  wont  about  like  air  : 
And  when  I  had  dutch'd  mo  n  liundful  here. 
Away  it  wont  there. 

1  set  my  heart  upon  woman  next ; 

Hurrah ! 
Fur  her  sweet  sake  was  oft  pcrplex'd  : 

But.  nh ! 

The  false  one  look'd  for  a  daintier  lot, 
The  constant  one  wearied  me  out  and  out, 
The  l>est  was  not  easily  got. 

I  set  my  heart  upon  travels  grand, 

Hurrah  ! 
And  spurn 'd  our  plain  old  fatherland ; 

But,  ah ! 

Nought  seem'd  to  be  just  the  thing  it  should. 
Most  comfortless  beds  and  indifferent  food, 
My  tastes  misunderstood. 

I  set  my  heart  upon  sounding  fame  ; 

Hurrah  ! 
And,  lo  !  I'm  eclipsed  by  some  upstart's  name  : 

And,  ah ! 

When  in  public  life  I  loom'd  quite  high, 
The  folks  that  pass'd  me  would  look  awry : 
Their  very  worst  friend  was  I. 

And  then  I  set  my  heart  upon  war, 

Hurrah  ! 
We  gain'd  some  battles  with  eclat. 

Hurrah ! 

We  troubled  the  foe  with  sword  and  flame, 
And  some  of  our  friends  fared  quite  the  same. 
I  lost  a  leg  for  fame. 

171 


Nothing. 


Now  I've  set  my  heart  upon  nothing,  you  see ; 

Hurrah  ! 
And  the  whole  wide  world  belongs  to  me. 

Hurrah ! 

The  feast  begins  to  run  low,  no  doubt ; 
But  at  the  old  cask  we'll  have  one  good  bout : 
Come,  drink  the  lees  all  out ! 


EPIGKAM. 

O  win  the  maid  the  Poet  tries, 
And  sometimes  writes  to  Julia's  eyes  ;- 
She  likes  a  verse — but,  cruel  whim, 
She  still  appears  a-verse  to  him. 


172 


THE  DEVIL'S  WALK. 


IM«   HARD   PORSOX. 


•^M   ROM  his  brimstone  bod,  at  break  of  day, 

A-walking  the  Devil  is  gone, 
To  visit  his  snug  little  farm  of  the  earth. 
And  see  how  his  stock  goes  on. 
173 


The  Devil's  Walk. 


And  over  the  hill,  and  over  the  dale, 

He  walk'd,  and  over  the  plain  ; 
And  backwards  and  forwards  he  switch'd  his  long  tail, 

As  a  gentleman  switches  his  cane. 

And  pray  how  was  the  Devil  drest  ? 

O  !  he  was  in  his  Sunday's  best ; 
His  coat  was  red,  and  his  breeches  were  blue, 

With  a  little  hole  behind,  where  his  tail  came  through. 
He  saw  a  lawyer  killing  a  viper, 

On  a  dunghill,  beside  his  own  stable ; 
And  the  Devil  smiled,  for  it  put  him  in  mind 

Of  Cain  and  his  brother  Abel. 

An  apothecary,  on  a  white  horse, 

Rode  by  on  his  avocations — 
"  Oh !"  says  the  Devil,  "  there's  my  old  friend 

Death  in  the  revelations  ! " 
He  saw  a  cottage,  with  a  double  coach-house ; 

A  cottage  of  gentility  ! 
And  the  Devil  was  pleased,  for  his  darling  vice 

Is  the  pride  that  apes  humility. 

He  stepp'd  into  a  rich  bookseller's  shop ; 

Says  he,  "  We  ai'e  both  of  one  college  ; 
For  I,  myself,  sat,  like  a  cormorant,  once, 

Hard  by,  on  the  Tree  of  Knowledge." 
As  he  pass'd  through  Cold-Bath-Fields,  he  saw 

A  solitary  cell : 
And  the  Devil  was  charm'd,  for  it  gave  him  a  hint 

For  improving  the  prisons  of  hell. 

He  saw  a  turnkey  in  a  trice 

Fetter  a  troublesome  jade ; 
"  Ah  !  nimble,"  quoth  he,  "  do  the  fingers  move 

When  they're  used  to  their  trade." 

174 


The  Doit's  Walk. 


He  saw  the  snme  turnkey  unfutter  Uie  game, 

I  '-i;i  with  little  expedition  ; 
And  the  Devil  thought  on  the  long  debates 

On  the  Slave  Trade  Abolition. 

Down  the  river  did  glide,  with  wind  and  with  tide, 

A  pig,  with  vast  celerity  ! 
And  the  Devil  grinn'd,  for  he  saw  all  the  while 
How  it  cut  its  own  throat,  and  he  thought,  with  a  smile, 

Of  "  England's  commercial  prosperity  ! " 

He  saw  a  certain  minister 

(A  minister  to  his  mind) 
Go  up  into  a  certain  house, 

With  a  majority  behind. 

The  Devil  quoted  Genesis, 

Like  a  very  learned  clerk, 
How  "  Noah,  and  his  creeping  things. 

Went  up  into  the  ark  !" 

^ 
General  Gascoigne's  burning  face 

He  saw  with  consternation, 
And  back  to  Hell  his  way  did  take  ; 
For  the  Devil  thought,  by  a  slight  mistake, 

'Twas  the  General  Conflagration  !' 


1  One  evening,  at  the  house  of  the  late  Dr.  Vincent,  Professor  Person,  being  cut 
out  at  a  whist  table,  was  about  to  take  his  leave.  Mrs.  Vincent  pressed  him  to 
stay,  saying,  "  I  know  you  will  not  stay,  if  you  are  doing  nothing ;  but  the  rubber 
will  soon  be  over,  when  you  may  go  in  ;  and,  in  the  meantime,  take  a  pen  and  ink 
at  another  table,  and  write  us  some  verses."  Dr.  Vincent,  in  the  midst  of  the  game, 
seconded  this  request,  and  added,  "  I  will  give  a  subject.  You  shall  suppose  that  the 
Devil  is  come  up  among  us,  to  see  what  we  are  doing,  and  you  shall  tell  us  what 
observations  he  makes."  Porson  obeyed  these  injunctions,  and  this  amusing  fm- 
(Tesprit  was  the  result.  The  Devil's  Walk,  with  additions,  has  been  claimed  also  fur 
Coleridge  and  Southey. 


DELIA'S  POCKET  HANDKERCHIEF.1 


KOBF.RT   SOUTHEY. 


IS  mine  !  what  accents  can  my  joy  declare  ? 
Blest  be  the  pressure  of  the  thronging  rout ! 
Blest  be  the  hand  so  hasty  of  my  fair, 
That  left  the  tempting  corner  hanging  out. 


I  envy  not  the  joy  the  pilgrim  feels 
After  long  travel  to  some  distant  shrine, 
When  at  the  relic  of  his  saint  he  kneels — 
For  Delia's  pocket-handkerchief  is  mine. 

When  first  with  filching  fingers  I  drew  near, 
Keen  hope  shot  tremulous  through  every  vein ; 
And  when  the  finish'd  deed  removed  my  fear, 
Scarce  could  my  bounding  heart  its  joy  contain. 

What  tho'  the  eighth  commandment  rose  to  mind, 
It  only  served  a  moment's  qualm  to  move ; 

For  thefts  like  this  it  could  not  be  design'd 

The  eighth  commandment  was  not  made  for  love  ! 

Here  when  she  took  the  macaroons  from  me, 
She  wiped  her  mouth  to  clean  the  crumbs  so  sweet ; 
Dear  napkin  !  yes,  she  wiped  her  lips  in  thee  ! 
Lips  sweeter  than  the  macaroons  she  eat. 

1  This  is  one  of  the  "  Love  Elegies  of  Abel  Shufflebottom." 
176 


Delia  s  Pocket-handkerchief '. 


And  when  she  took  that  pim-h  --I 

That  uuule  my  lovo  so  dcli<Mti-lv  »w«'/.i', 

Thee  to  her  Roman  nose  applied  I  saw. 

And  thou  art  douhly  dear  for  things  like  these. 

No  washerwoman's  tilth)-  hand  shall  e'er, 
Sweet  pocket-handkerchief !  thy  worth  profane 
For  thou  host  toueh'd  the  ruhies  of  my  fair, 
And  I  will  kis.-j  thce  o'er  and  o'er  again. 


A  CONJUGAL  CONUNDRUM. 
[FROM  PUNCH.] 

HICII  is  of  greater  value,  prythee,  say, 

The  Bride  or  Bridegroom? — must  the  truth  be  told  ? 
Alas,  it  must !    The  Bride  is  given  away — 
The  Bridegroom's  often  regularly  sold. 


\ 


COOL  REFLECTIONS. 


ROBEET SOUTHEY. 


SPARE  mo — spare  me,  Phoebus  !  if,  indeed, 
Thou  hast  not  let  another  Phaeton 
Drive  earthwards  thy  fierce  steeds  and  fiery  car 
Mercy  !  I  melt  !  I  melt !  no  tree,  no  bush, 
No  shelter  !  not  a  breath  of  stirring  air, 
East,  West,  or  North,  or  South  !    Dear  god  of  day, 
Put  on  thy  nightcap  !  crop  thy  locks  of  light, 
And  be  in  the  fashion  !  turn  thy  back  upon  us, 
And  let  thy  beams  flow  upward  ;  make  it  night 


Cod  Refections. 


Instead  of  noon  !  one  little  miracle, 
In  pity,  gentle  Pha-bus  ! 

What «» joy, 

Oh,  what  a  joy  to  be  a  seal,  and  flounder 
On  an  ice  i-laml !  or  to  have  a  den 
With  the  white  hear,  cuvern'd  in  polar  snow  ! 
It  were  a  comfort  to  shake  hand.s  with  Death, 
lie  has  n  rare  cold  hand  !  to  wrap  one's  self 
In  the  gift  shirt  Deianeira  sent, 
Dipt  in  the  hlood  of  Xessus,  just  to  keep 
The  sun  off;  or  toast  cheese  for  Beelzebub, 
That  were  a  cool  employment  to  this  journey, 
Along  a  road  whose  white  intensity 
Would  make  platina  uncongealablc 
Like  quicksilver. 

Were  it  midnight  I  should  walk, 
Self-lanthorn'd,  saturate  with  sunbeams,  Jove ! 
O,  gentle  Jove  !  have  mercy,  and  once  more, 
Kick  that  obdurate  Pluebus  out  of  heaven  ! 
Give  Boreas  the  wind-cholic,  till  he  roars 
For  canlamum,  and  drinks  down  peppermint, 
.Making  what's  left  as  precious  as  Tokay. 
Send  .Mercury  to  salivate  the  sky, 
Till  it  dissolves  in  rain.     O,  gentle  Jove ! 
By  some  such  little  kindness  to  a  wretch, 
Who  feels  his  marrow  .spoiling  his  best  coat, 
Who  swells  with  caloriijue,  lus  if  a  Prester 
Had  leaven'd  every  limb  with  poison -y east ; 
Lend  me  thine  utgle  just  to  flap  his  wings, 
And  fan  me,  and  I  will  build  temples  to  thee, 
And  turn  true  Pagan. 

Not  a  cloud  nor  breeze, 
O,  you  most  heathen  Deities  !  if  ever 
My  bones  reach  home  (for  the  flesh  upon  them, 
That  hath  resolved  itself  into  a  dew), 
I  shall  have  learnt  owl-wisdom.     Thou  vile  Phojbus  ! 
Set  me  a  Persian  sun-idolater 
KB 


Cool  Reflections. 


Upon  this  turnpike  road,  and  I'll  convert  him 

With  no  Inquisitorial  argument 

But  thine  own  fires.     Now  woe  be  to  me,  wretch, 

That  I  was  in  a  heretic  country  born  ! 

Else  might  some  mass  for  the  poor  souls  that  bleach, 

And  burn  away  the  calx  of  their  offences, 

In  that  great  Purgatory  crucible, 

Help  me,  O  Jupiter  !  my  poor  complexion  ! 

I  am  made  a  copper-Indian  of  already, 

And  if  no  kindly  cloud  will  parasol  me 

My  very  cellular  membrane  will  be  changed, 

1  shall  be  negrofied. 

A  brook  !  a  brook  ! 
Oh,  what  a  sweet  cool  sound  ! 

'Tis  very  nectar ! 

It  runs  like  life  thro'  every  strengthen'd  limb  ! 
Nymph  of  the  stream,  now  take  my  grateful  prayer. 


180 


THE  LOVER  AND  THE  LAP-DOG. 


SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIlHJi:. 

medio  de  fonte  leporum 

Surgit  amari  aliquid. — Lucret. 

£  LILLY  was  bleat  with  beauty,  wit,  nnd  grace : 
Small  poets  loved  to  sing  her  blooming  face. 
£»    Before  her  altars,  lo  !  a  numerous  train 

Preferr'd  their  vows  ;  yet  all  preferr'd  in  vain 
Till  charming  Florio.  bom  to  conquer,  came, 
And  touch 'd  the  fair  one  with  an  equal  flamo. 
The  flume  she  felt,  and  ill  could  she  conceal 
What  ever    look  and  action  would  reveal. 


The  Lover  and  the  Lap- dog. 


With  boldness  then,  which  seldom  fails  to  move, 
He  pleads  the  cause  of  marriage  and  of  love; 
The  course  of  hymeneal  joys  he  rounds, 
The  fair  one's  eyes  dance  pleasure  at  the  sounds. 
Xaught  now  remain'd  but  "  Xoes" — how  little  meant- 
And  the  sweet  coyness  that  endears  consent. 
The  youth  upon  his  knees  enraptured  fell : — 
The  strange  misfortune,  oh  !  what  words  can  tell  ? 
Tell !  ye  neglected  sylphs  !  who  lap-dogs  guard, 
Why  snatch'd  ye  not  away  your  precious  ward  ? 
Why  suffer'd  ye  the  lover's  weight  to  fall 
On  the  ill-fated  neck  of  much-loved  Ball  ? 
The  favourite  on  his  mistress  casts  his  eyes, 
Gives  a  melancholy  howl,  and — dies  ! 

Sacred  his  ashes  lie,  and  long  his  rest ! 
Anger  and  grief  divide  poor  Julia's  breast. 
Her  eyes  she  fix'd  on  guilty  Florio  first, 
On  him  the  storm  of  angry  grief  must  burst. 
That  storm  he  fled  :• — he  woos  a  kinder  fair, 
Whose  fond  affections  no  dear  puppies  share. 
'Tvvere  vain  to  tell  how  Julia  pined  away ; — 
Unhappy  fair,  that  in  one  luckless  day 
(From  future  almanacks  the  day  be  cross'd  !) 
At  once  her  lover  and  her  lap-dog  lost ! 


182 


THE  KNIFE-GRINDER, 

A  DIALOGUE  IN  SAPPHICS  BY  GEORGE  CANNING. 
FRIEND  OP  HUMANITY.1 

EED  Y  Knife-grinder  !  whither  are  you  going  ? 
Rough  is  the  road — your  wheel  is  out  of  order — 
Bleak  blows  the  blast ;  your  hat  has  got  a  hole  in't, 
So  have  your  breeches  ! 

"  Weary  Knife-grinder !  little  think  the  proud  ones, 
Who  in  their  coaches  roll  along  the  turnpike- 
Road,  what  hard  work  'tis  crying  all  day  '  Knives  and 

Scissars  to  grind  O  ! ' 

"  Tell  me,  Knife-grinder,  how  you  came  to  grind  knives  ? 
Did  some  rich  man  tyrannically  use  you  ? 
Was  it  the  squire  ?  or  parson  of  the  parish  ? 

Or  the  attorney  ? 

"  Was  it  the  squire,  for  killing  of  his  game  ?  or 
Covetous  parson,  for  his  tithes  distraining  ? 
Or  roguish  lawyer,  made  you  lose  your  little 

All  in  a  lawsuit  ? 

"  (Have  you  not  read  the  Rights  of  Man,  by  Tom  Paine  ?) 
Drops  of  compassion  tremble  on  my  eyelids, 
Ready  to  fall,  as  soon  as  you  have  told  your 

Pitiful  story.'' 


1  The  "  Friend  of  Humanity"  was  intended  for  Mr  Tierney,  M.  P.  for  South- 
wark,  who  in  early  times  was  among  the  more  forward  of  the  Reformers.  .He  was 
an  assiduous  member  of  the  "  Society  of  Friends  of  the  People." 

183 


The  Knife-grinder. 


KNIFE-GRINDER. 


"  Story !    God  bless  you  !    I  have  none  to  tell,  sir, 
Only  last  night,  a-drinking  at  the  Chequers, 

181 


The  Knife-grinder. 


This  poor  old  hat  and  breeches,  as  you  see,  were 

Torn  in  a  scuffle. 

"  Constables  came  up  for  to  take  me  into 
Custody  ;  they  took  me  before  the  justice  ; 
Justice  Oldmixon  put  me  in  the  parish- 
Stocks  for  a  vagrant. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  drink  your  Honour's  health  in 
A  pot  of  beer,  if  you  will  give  me  sixpence  ; 
But  for  my  part,  I  never  love  to  meddle 

With  politics,  sir." 


"  /  give  thee  sixpence  !    I  will  see  thee  damn'd  first — 
Wretch  !  whom  no  sense  of  wrongs  can  rouse  to  vengeance — 
Sordid,  unfeeling,  reprobate,  degraded, 

Spiritless  outcast !" 

[_  Kicks  th^'  Knife-grinder,  overturns  his  ivhee!,  and  exit  in  a  transport  of 
Republican  enthusiasm  and  universal  philanthropy. ~\ 


185 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  GOTTINGEK 


GEOKGE  CANNING. 


HENE'EE  with  haggard  eyes  I  view 
This  dungeon  that  I'm  rotting  in, 
I  think  of  those  companions  true 

Who  studied  with  me  at  the  U — 
— -niversity  of  Gottingen, — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen. 

[_  Weeps,  and  pulls  out  a  blue  kerchief,  with  which  he  wipes  his 
eyes ;  gazing  tenderly  at  it,  he  proceeds — 

Sweet  kerchief,  check'd  with  heavenly  blue, 

Which  once  my  love  sat  knotting  in  ! — 
Alas  !  Matilda  then  was  true  ! 
Al  least  I  thought  so  at  the  U — 

— niversity  of  Gottingen— 
— niversity  of  Gottingen. 

\_At  the  repetition  of  tliis  line  RooERO  clunks  his  chains  in 
cadence. 

186 


The  University  of  Gottingen. 


Barbs  !  Barbs  !  alas  !  how  swift  you  flc\v 

Her  neat  post- waggon  trotting  in  ! 
Ye  bore  Matilda  from  my  view ; 
Forlorn  I  languish'd  at  tbe  U — 

— -niversity  of  Gottingen — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen. 

This  faded  form  !  this  pallid  hue  ! 

This  blood  my  veins  is  clotting  in, 
My  years  are  many — they  were  few 
When  first  I  enter'd  at  the  U— 

—niversity  of  Gottingen — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen. 

There  first  for  thee  my  passion  grew, 
Sweet !  sweet  Matilda  Pottingen  ! 
Thou  wast  the  daughter  of  my  tn — 
— tor,  law  professor  at  the  U — 

— niversity  of  Gottingen — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen. 

Sun,  moon,  and  thou  vain  world,  adieu, 

That  kings  and  priests  arc  plotting  in  : 
Here  doom'd  to  starve  on  water  gru — 
— el,  never  shall  I  see  the  U— 

— niversity  of  Gottingen — 
— niversity  of  Gottingen. 

[During  the  last  stanza  EooERO  dashes  his  head  repeatedly 
against  the  vails  of  his  prison  ;  and,  finally,  so  hard  as  to 
produce  a  visible  contusion  ;  lie.  then  throws  himself  on  the 
floor  in  an  agony.  The  curtain  drops ;  the  music  still 
continuing  to  play  till  it  is  wholly  fallen. 


187 


BEN  BLOCK. 

THOMAS  DIBDIN. 

EN  BLOCK  was  a  vet'ran  of  naval  renown, 

And  renown  was  liis  only  reward  ; 
For  The  Board  still  neglected  his  merits  to  crown, 

As  no  int'rest  he  held  with  my  lord. 
Yet  brave  as  old  Benbow  was  sturdy  Old  Ben, 

And  he'd  laugh  at  the  cannon's  loud  roar : 
When  the  death-dealing  broadside  made  worm's  meat  of  men, 
And  the  scuppers  were  streaming  with.  gore. 

*  188 


Ben  Block. 


Nor  could  a  lieutenant's  poor  stipend  provoke 

The  staunch  tar  to  despise  scanty  prog  ; 
For  his  biscuit  he'd  crack,  turn  his  quid,  crack  his  joke, 

And  drown  care  in  a  jorum  of  grog. 
Thus,  year  after  year,  in  a  subaltern  state, 

Poor  Ben  for  his  king  fought  and  bled ; 
Till  time  had  unroof'd  all  the  thatch  from  his  pate, 

And  the  hair  from  his  temples  had  fled. 

When,  on  humbly  saluting,  with  sinciput  bare, 

A  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty  once  ; 
Says  his  lordship,  "  Lieutenant,  you've  lost  all  your  hair, 

Since  I  last  had  a  peep  at  your  sconce." 
"  Why,  my  lord,"  replied  Ben,  "  it  with  truth  may  be  said, 

While  a  bald  pate  I  long  have  stood  under, 
There  have  so  many  captains  walk'd  over  my  head, 

That  to  see  me  quite  scalp'd  'twere  no  wonder." 


ODE  TO  THE  TKEAD-MILL. 


CHAKLES  LAMB. 


NSPIKE  my  spirit,  Spirit  of  De  Foe, 

That  sang  the  Pillory, 

In  loftier  strains  to  show 

A  more  sublime  Machine 
Than  that,  where  thou  wert  seen 
With  neck  out-stretcht  and  shoulders  ill  awry, 
Courting  coarse  plaudits  from  vile  crowds  below 
A  most  unseemly  show  ! 


In  such  a  place 
Who  could  expose  thy  face, 
•  Historiographer  of  deathless  Crusoe  ! 
That  paint' st  the  strife 
And  all  the  naked  ills  of  savage  life. 
Far  above  Rousseau  ? 

190 


Ode  to  the  Treadmill. 


Rather  myself  had  stood 

In  that  ignoble  wood, 

Bare  to  the  mob,  on  holyday  or  high  day. 

If  nought  else  could  atone 

For  waggish  libel, 

I  swear  on  Bible, 

I  would  have  spared  him  for  thy  sake  alone, 

Man  Friday ! 


Our  ancestors'  were  sour  days, 

Great  Master  of  Romance  ! 

A  milder  doom  had  fallen  to  thy  chance 

In  our  days  : 

Thy  sole  assignment 

Some  solitary  confinement, 

(Not  worth  thy  care  a  carrot,) 

Where,  in  world-hidden  cell 

Thou  thy  own  Crusoe  might  have  acted  well, 

Only  without  the  parrot ; 

By  sure  experience  taught  to  know, 

Whether  the  qualms  thou  makest  him  feel  were  truly  such  or  no. 

IV. 

But  stay !  methinks  in  statelier  measure — 

A  more  companionable  pleasure — 

I  see  thy  steps  the  mighty  Tread-Mill  trace, 

(The  subject  of  my  song, 

Delay'd  however  long,) 

And  some  of  thine  own  race, 

To  keep  thee  company,  thou  bring'st  with  thee  along. 

There  with  thee  go, 

Link'd  in  like  sentence, 

With  regulated  pace  and  footing  slow, 

Each  old  acquaintance, 

Rogue  thief — that  live  to  future  ages 

Through  many  a  labour'd  tome, 


Ode  to  the  'Treadmill. 


Ilankly  embalm'd  in  thy  too  natural  pages. 
Faith,  friend  De  Foe,  thou  art  quite  at  home  ! 
Not  one  of  thy  great  offspring  thou  dost  lack, 
From  pirate  Singleton  to  pilfering  Jack. 
Here  Flandrian  Moll  her  brazen  incest  brags ; 
Vice-stript  Roxana  penitent  in  rags, 
There  points  to  Amy,  treading  equal  chimes, 
The  faithful  handmaid  to  her  faithless  crimes. 


Incompetent  my  song  to  raise 

To  its  just  height  thy  praise, 

Great  Mill ! 

That  by  thy  motion  proper 

(No  thanks  to  wind,  or  sail,  or  working  rill,) 

Grinding  that  stubborn  corn,  the  Human  will, 

Turn'st  out  men's  consciences, 

That  were  begrimed  before,  as  clean  and  sweet 

As  flour  from  purest  wheat, 

Into  thy  hopper. 

All  reformation  short  of  thee  but  nonsense  is, 

Or  human  or  divine. 

VI. 

Compared  with  thee, 

What  are  the  labours  of  that  Jumping  Sect, 

Which  feeble  laws  connive  at  rather  than  respect  ? 

Thou  dost  not  bump,  , 

Or  jump, 

But  walk  men  into  virtue ;  betwixt  crime 

And  slow  repentance  giving  breathing  time 

And  leisure  to  be  good ; 

Instructing  with  discretion  demi-reps 

How  to  direct  their  steps. 

VII. 

Thou  best  philosopher  made  out  of  wood  ! 
Not  that  which  framed  thy  tub, 

192 


Ode  to  the  'Treadmill. 


Where  sate  the  Cynic  cub, 

With  nothing  in  his  bosom  sympathetic  ; 

But  from  those  groves  derived,  I  deem, 

Where  Plato  nursed  his  dream 

Of  immortality ; 

Seeing  that  clearly 

Thy  system  all  is  merely 

Peripatetic. 

Thou  to  thy  pupils  dost  such  lessons  give 

Of  how  to  live 

With  temperance,  sobriety,  morality, 

(A  new  art,) 

That  from  thy  school,  by  force  of  virtuous  deeds, 

Each  Tyro  now  proceeds 

A  "  Walking  Stewart ! " 


MALBBOOCK. 


TRANSLATED  BY  HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


ALBROOCK,  the  prince  of  commanders, 
Is  gone  to  the  war  in  Flanders  ; 
His  fame  is  like  Alexander's  ; 

But  when  will  he  ever  come  home  ? 
Mironton,  mironton,  mirontaine. 


Perhaps  at  Trinity  Feast,  or 
Perhaps  he  may  come  at  Easter, 
Egad  !  he  had  better  make  haste,  or 
We  fear  he  may  never  come. 
Mironton,  &c. 

For  Trinity  Feast  is  over, 
And  has  brought  no  knews  from  Dover, 
And  Easter  is  pass'd,  moreover, 
And  Malbroock  still  delays. 


Malbroock. 


Milady  in  her  watch-tower 
Spends  many  a  pensive  hour, 
Xot  knowing  why  or  how  her 

Dear  lord  from  England  stays. 

While  sitting  quite  forlorn  in 
That  tower,  she  spies  returning 
A  page  clad  in  deep  mourning, 
With  fainting  steps  and  slow. 

"  O  page,  prithee  come  faster ! 

What  news  do  you  bring  of  your  master  ? 

I  fear  there  is  some  disaster. 

Your  looks  are  so  full  of  woe." 

"  The  news  I  bring,  fair  lady," 
With  sorrowful  accent  said  he, 
u  Is  one  you  are  not  ready- 
So  soon,  alas  !  to  hear. 

"  But  since  to  speak  I'm  hurried," 
Added  this  page,  quite  flurried, 
•'  Malbroock  is  dead  and  buried  ! " 
And  here  he  shed  a  tear. 


"  He's  dead  !  He's  dead  as  a  herring  ! 
For  I  beheld  his  berring, 
And  four  officers  transferring 

His  corpse  away  from  the  field. 

*'  One  officer  carried  his  sabre, 
And  he  carried  it  not  without  labour, 
Much  envying  his  next  neighbour, 
Who  only  bore  a  shield. 


Malbroock. 


"  The  third  was  helmet  bearer — 
That  helmet  which  ou  its  wearer 
Fill'd  all  who  saw  it  with  terror, 
And  cover'd  a  hero's  brains. 

"  Now  having  got  so  far,  I 
Find,  that— by  the  Lord  Harry  !— 
The  fourth  is  left  nothing  to  carry ; — 
So  there  the  thing  remains." 

Mironton,  mironton,  mirontaine. 


196 


THE  LITTLE  MAN  ALL  IN  GREY. 


J.   P.  DK  BERANGER.        TRANSLATED  BY  AMELIA  B.  EDWARDS. 


i  N  Paris  a  queer  little  man  you  may  see, 

A  little  man  all  in  grey  ; 
Rosy  and  round  as  an  apple  is  he, 
Content  with  the  present,  whate'er  it  may  be, 
While  from  care  and  from  cash  he  is  equally  free, 
And  merry  both  night  and  day  ! 

"  Ma  foi !    I  laugh  at  the  world,"  says  he, — 
"  I  laugh  at  the  world,  and  the  world  laughs  at  me  ! " 
What  a  gay  little  man  in  grey  ! 

He  runs  after  the  girls,  like  a  great  many  more,1 
This  little  man  all  in  grey ; 
He  sings,  falls  in  love  and  in  debt  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  drinks  without  wasting  a  thought  on  the  score ; 

197 


The  Little  Man  all  in  Grey. 


And  then  in  the  face  of  a  dun  shuts  his  door. 

Or  keeps  out  of  the  bailiff's  way. 

"  Ma  foi  !    I  laugh  at  the  world,"  says  he, — 

"  I  laugh  at  the  world,  and  the  world  laughs  at  me  !" 

What  a  gay  little  man  in  grey  ! 

When  the  rain  comes  in  through  the  broken  panes, 

This  little  man  all  in  grey 
Goes  to  bed  content,  and  never  complains, 
And,  though  winter  be  chilling  the  blood  in  his  veins, 
Blows  his  frost-bitten  fingers,  and  merrily  feigns 
Xot  to  care  for  a  fire  to-day  ! 

'•"  Ma  fol !    I  laugh  at  the.  world,"  says  he, — 
I  laugh  at  the  world,  and  the  world  laughs  at  me !" 
What  a  gay  little  man  in  grey  ! 

The  prettiest  wife  one  need  wish  to  possess 

Has  this  little  man  all  in  grey  ; 
But  the  world  ivill  talk,  and  I  must  confess 
That  her  exquisite  taste,  and  her  elegant  dress 
Lead  others  to  wonder — perhaps  to  guess 
That  her  lovers,  perchance,  may  pay. 

Still  her  husband  looks  on.     "  Ma  foi!"   says  he, — 
"  I  laugh  at  the  world,  and  the  world  laughs  at  me !" 
What  a  gay  little  man  in  grey  ! 

Now  rack'd  by  the  gout,  on  his  comfortless  bed 

Lies  this  little  man  all  in  grey  ; 
And  the  priest,  with  his  book  and  his  shaven  head, 
Comes  and  talks  of  the  devil,  the  grave,  and  the  dead, 
Till  the  sick  man's  patience  is  wholly  fled, 
And  he  frightens  the  priest  away  ! 

"  Ma  foi  !    I  laugh  at  the  devil,*'  says  he, — 
"  I  laugh  at  the  world,  and  the  world  laughs  at  me  !" 
What  a  gay  little  man  in  grey  ! 


198 


• 


THE  PLAYHOUSE  IN  FLAMES. 


HORACE   SMITH. 


S  Chaos,  which,  by  heavenly  doom, 
Had  slept  in  everlasting  gloom, 
Started  with  terror  and  surprise, 
When  light  first  flash'd  upon  her  eyes. 
So  London's  sons  in  nightcap  woke, 

In  bedgown  woke  her  dames, 
For  shouts  were  heard  'mid  fire  and  smoke, 
And  twice  ten  hundred  voices  spoke, 
"  The  Playhouse  is  in  flames  !" 

199 


The  Playhouse  in  Flames. 


And  lo !  where  Catherine  Street  extends, 
A  fiery  tail  its  lustre  lends 

To  every  window  pane  : 
Blushes  each  spout  in  Martlet  Court, 
And  Barbican,  moth-eaten  fort, 
And  Covent  Garden  kennels,  sport 

A  bright  ensanguined  drain  : 
Meux's  new  brewhouse  shows  the  light. 
Rowland  Hill's  chapel,  and  the  height 

Where  patent  shot  they  sell  : 
The  Tennis  Court,  so  fair  and  tall, 
Partakes  the  ray,  with  Surgeons'  Hall, 
The  ticket-porters'  house  of  call, 
Old  Bedlam,  close  by  London  Wall, 
Wright's  shrimp  and  oyster  shop  withal, 

And  Richardson's  Hotel. 
Nor  these  alone,  but  far  and  wide 
Across  the  Thames's  gleaming  tide, 
To  distant  fields  the  blaze  was  borne, 
And  daisy  white,  and  hoary  thorn 
In  borrow'd  lustre  seem'd  to  sham 
The  rose  or  red  sweet  Wil-li-am. 

To  those  who  on  the  hills  around 

Beheld  the  flames  from  Drury's  mound, 
As  from  a  lofty  altar  rise  ; 

It  seem'd  that  nations  did  conspire 

To  offer  to  the  God  of  fire 
Some  vast  stupendous  sacrifice  ! 
The  summon'd  firemen  woke  at  call, 
And  hied  them  to  their  stations  all. 
Starting  from  short  and  broken  snooze, 
Each  sought  his  ponderous  hobnail'd  shoes. 
But  first  his  worsted  hosen  plied, 
Plush  breeches  next  in  crimson  dyed, 

His  nether  bulk  embraced ; 
Then  jacket  thick  of  red  or  blue, 


The  Playhouse  in  Flames. 


Whose  massy  shoulder  gave  to  view 
The  badge  of  eacli  respective  crew, 

In  tin  or  copper  traced. 
The  engines  thunder'd  through  the  street, 
Fire-hook,  pipe,  bucket,  all  complete, 
And  torches  glared,  and  clattering  feet 

Along  the  pavement  paced. 

And  one,  the  leader  of  the  band, 
From  Charing  Cross,  along  the  Strand, 
Like  stag  by  beagles  hunted  hard, 
Ran  till  he  stopp'd  at  Vin'gar  Yard. 
The  burning  badge  his  shoulder  bore, 
The  belt  and  oil-skin  hat  he  wore, 
The  cane  he  had  his  men  to  bang, 
Show'd  foreman  of  the  British  gang. 
His  name  was  Higginbottom ;  now 
'Tis  meet  that  I  should  tell  you  how 

The  others  came  in  view  ; 
The  Hand-in-Hand  the  race  begun, 
Then  came  the  Phoenix  and  the  Sun, 
The  Exchange,  where  old  insurers  run, 

The  Eagle,  where  the  new  : 
With  these  came  liumford,  Bumford,  Cole, 
Robins,  from  Hockley  in  the  Hole, 
Lawson  and  Dawson,  cheek  by  jowl, 

Crump,  from  St.  Giles's  Pound  : 
Whitford  and  Mitford  join'd  the  train, 
Huggins  and  Muggins,  from  Chick  Lane, 
And  Clutterbuck,  who  got  a  sprain 

Before  the  Plug  was  found. 
Hobson  and  Jobson  did  not  sleep, 
But  ah !  no  trophy  could  they  reap, 
For  both  were  in  the  Donjon  Keep 

Of  Bridewell's  gloomy  mound  ! 
E'en  Higginbottom  now  was  posed, 
For  sadder  scene  was  ne'er  disclosed  ; 

201  t)  O 


The  Playhouse  in  Flames. 


Without,  within,  in  hideous  show, 
Devouring  flames  resistless  glow, 
And  blazing  rafters  downward  go, 
And  never  halloo,  "  Heads  below !" 

Xor  notice  give  at  all : 
The  firemen,  terrified,  are  slow 
To  bid  the  pumping  torrent  flow, 

For  fear  the  roof  should  fall. 
Back,  Robins,  back  !    Crump,  stand  aloof ! 
"SVhitford,  keep  near  the  walls  ! 
Huggins,  regard  your  own  behoof, 
For  lo  !  the  blazing,  rocking  roof 

Down,  down  in  thunder  falls  ! 

An  awful  pause  succeeds  the  stroke. 
And  o'er  the  ruin's  volumed  smoke, 
Rolling  around  its  pitchy  shroud, 
Conceal'd  them  from  th'  astonish' d  crowd. 
At  length  the  mist  awhile  was  clear'd, 
"When,  lo  !  amid  the  wreck  uprear'd, 
Gradual  a  moving  head  appear'd. 

And  Eagle  firemen  knew 
'Twas  Joseph  Muggins,  name  revered, 

The  foreman  of  their  crew. 
Loud  shouted  all  in  sign  of  woe, 
"  A  Muggins,  to  the  rescue,  ho  !" 

And  pour'd  the  hissing  tide  ; 
Meanwhile  the  Muggins  fought  amain, 
And  strove  and  struggled  all  in  vain, 
For,  rallying  but  to  fall  again, 

He  totter'd,  sunk,  and  died  ! 

Did  none  attempt,  before  he  fell, 
To  succour  one  they  loved  so  well  ? 
Yes,  Higginbottom  did  aspire 
(His  fireman's  soul  was  all  on  fire) 
His  brother  chief  to  save  ; 


The  Playhouse  in  Flames. 


But  ah  !  his  reckless  generous  ire 

Served  but  to  share  his  grave  ! 
'Mid  blazing  beams  and  scalding  streams, 
Through  fire  and  smoke  he  dauntless  broke, 

Where  Muggins  broke  before  ; 
But  sulphury  stench  and  boiling  drench 
Destroying  sight,  o'erwhelm'd  him  ^uite, 

He  sunk  to  rise  no  more. 
Still  o'er  his  head,  while  Fate  he  braved, 
His  whizzing  water-pipe  he  waved ; 
"  Whitford  and  Mitford,  ply  your  pumps  ; 
You,  Clutterbuck,  come,  stir  your  stumps, 
Why  are  you  in  such  doleful  dumps  ? 
A  fireman,  and  afraid  of  bumps  ! 
What  are  they  fear'd  on  ?  fools  !  'od  rot  'em  ! ' 
Were  the  last  words  of  Higginbottom. 


THE  VENTKILOQUIST. 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.1 

F  yore,  in  Old  England,  it  was  not  thought  good 
To  carry  two  visages  under  one  hood : 
What  should  folks  say  to  you  ?  who  have  faces  so  plenty, 
That  from  under  one  hood  you  last  night  show'd  us  twenty  ! 
Stand  forth,  arch  deceiver,  and  tell  us  in  truth, 
Are  you  handsome  or  ugly,  in  age  or  in  youth  ? 
Man,  woman  or  child — a  dog  or  a  mouse? 
Or  are  you,  at  once,  each  live  thing  in  the  house  ? 
Each  live  thing  did  I  ask  ? — each  dead  implement,  too, 
A  workshop  in  your  person — saw,  chisel,  and  screw  ! 
Above  all,  are  you  one  individual  ? — I  know 
You  must  be,  at  least,  Alexandre  and  Co. 
But  I  think  you're  a  troop,  an  assemblage,  a  mob, 
And  that  I,  as  the  sheriff,2  should  take  up  the  job : 
And,  instead  of  rehearsing  your  wonders  in  verse, 
Must  read  you  the  riot-act,  and  bid  you  disperse ! 

1  Addressed  to  Monsieur  Alexandre,  a  popular  ventriloquist. 
8  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  Sheriff  of  Selkirkshire. 


201 


MINERVA'S  THIMBLE. 


THOMAS- MOORE. 


OUNG  Jessica  sat  all  the  day, 

In  love-dreams  languishingly  pining. 
Her  needle  bright  neglected  lay, 

Like  truant  genius  idly  shining. 
Jessy,  'tis  in  idle  hearts 

That  love  and  mischief  are  most  nimble  ; 
The  safest  shield  against  the  darts 
Of  Cupid,  is  Minerva's  thimble. 

A  child,  who  with  a  magnet  play'd, 
And  new  its  winning  ways  so  wily, 

The  magnet  near  the  needle  laid, 

And  laughing,  said,  "  We'll  steal  it  slily." 

205 


Minerva**  Thimble. 


The  needle,  having  naught  to  do, 

Was  pleased  to  let  the  magnet  wheedle, 

Till  closer  still  the  tempter  drew, 

And  off,  at  length,  eloped  the  needle. 

Now,  had  this  needle  turn'd  its  eye 

To  some  gay  reticule's  construction, 
It  ne'er  had  stray'd  from  duty's  tie, 

Nor  felt  a  magnet's  sly  seduction. 
Girls,  would  you  keep  tranquil  hearts, 

Your  snowy  fingers  must  be  nimble  ; 
The  safest  shield  against  the  darts 

Of  Cupid,  is  Minerva's  thimble. 


201! 


A  PUBLISHER'S  EPISTLE. 

THOMAS  MORE. 

ER  post,  sir,  we  send  your  MS. — look'd  it  through- 
Very  sorry — but  can't  undertake — 'twouldn't  do. 
Clever  work,  sir  ! — would  get  up  prodigiously  well — 
Its  only  defect  is — it  never  would  sell. 

And  though  statesmen  may  glory  in  being  unbought, 

In  an  author  'tis  not  so  desirable  thought. 

Hard  times,  sir, — most  books  are  too  dear  to  be  read — 
Though  the  fjold  of  Good-sense  and  Wit's  small-change  are  fled, 
Yet  the  paper  we  publishers  pass,  in  their  stead, 
Rises  higher  each  day,  and  ('tis  frightful  to  think  it) 
Not  even  such  names  as  F — tzg — r — d's  can  sink  it ! 

However,  sir — if  you're  for  trying  again, 
And  at  somewhat  that's  vendible — we  are  your  men. 

Since  the  Chevalier  C — rr  took  to  marrying  lately, 
The  trade  is  ill  want  of  a  traveller  greatly — 
No  job,  sir,  more  easy — your  country  once  plann'd, 
A  month  aboard  ship  and  a  fortnight  on  land 
Puts  your  quarto  of  Travels,  sir,  clean  out  of  hand. 

An  East-India  pamphlet's  a  thing  that  would  tell—- 
And a  lick  at  the  Papists  is  sure  to  sell  well. 
Or— supposing  you've  nothing  original  in  you — 
Write  parodies,  sir,  and  such  fame  it  will  win  you, 

207 


A  Publisher  s  Epistle. 


You'll  get  to  the  blue-stocking  routs  of  Albinia ! 
(Mind — not  to  her  dinners — a  second-hand  muse 
Mustn't  think  of  aspiring  to  mess  with  the  blues.) 
Or — in  case  nothing  else  in  this  world  you  can  do — 
The  deuce  is  in't,  sir,  if  you  cannot  review  ! 

Should  you  feel  any  touch  of  poetical  glow, 
We've  a  scheme  to  suggest — Mr.  Sc — tt,  you  must  know, 
(Who,  we're  sorry  to  say  it,  now  works  for  the  Row,) 
Having  quitted  the  Borders,  to  seek  new  renown, 
Is  coming,  by  long  quarto  stages,  to  town  ; 
And  beginning  with  Kokeby  (the  job's  sure  to  pay) 
Means  to  do  all  the  gentlemen's  seats  on  the  way. 
Now,  the  scheme  is  (though  none  of  our  hackneys  can  beat  him) 
To  start  a  fresh  poet  through  Highgate  to  meet  him ; 
Who,  by  means  of  quick  proofs — no  revises — long  coaches — 
May  do  a  few  villas,  before  Sc — tt  approaches. 
Indeed,  if  our  Pegasus  be  not  curst  shabby, 
He'll  reach,  without  found'ring,  at  least  Woburn-Abbey. 
Such,  sir,  is  our  plan — if  you'ie  up  to  the  freak, 
'Tis  a  match !   and  we'll  put  you  in  training  next  week. 
At  present,  no  more — in  reply  to  this  letter,  a 
Line  will  oblige  very  much 

Yours,  et  cetera. 


Temple  of  the  Muses. 


203 


THE  DEMON-SHIP. 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


WAS  off  the  Wash — the  sun  went  down — the  sea  look'd  black  and  grim, 
For  stormy  clouds,  with  murky  fleece,  were  mustering  at  the  brim  ; 
Titanic  shades  !  enormous  gloom  ! — as  if  the  solid  night 
Of  Erebus  rose  suddenly  to  seize  upon  the  light ! 

It  was  a  time  for  mariners  to  bear  a  wary  eye, 

With  such  a  dark  conspiracy  between  the  sea  and  sky ! 

Down  went  my  helm — close  reef  d — the  tack  held  freely  in  my  hand 
With  ballast  snug — I  put  about,  and  scudded  for  the  land. 
Loud  hiss'd  the  sea  beneath  her  lee — my  little  boat  flew  fast, 
But  faster  still  the  rushing  storm  came  borne  upon  the  blast. 

209  E  K 


The  Demon- Ship. 


Lord  !  what  a  roaring  hurricane  beset  the  straining  sail  ! 

What  furious  sleet,  with  level  drift,  and  fierce  assaults  of  hail ! 

What  darksome  caverns  yawn'd  before  !  what  jagged  steeps  behind  ! 

Like  battle  steeds,  with  foamy  manes,  wild  tossing  in  the  wind. 

Each  after  each  sank  down  astern,  exhausted  in  the  chase, 

But  where  it  sank  another  rose  and  gallop'd  in  its  place ; 

As  black  as  night — they  turn'd  to  white,  and  cast  against  the  cloud 

A  snowy  sheet,  as  if  each  surge  upturn'd  a  sailor's  shroud  : — 

Still  flew  my  boat ;  alas  !  alas  !  her  course  was  nearly  run  ! 

Behold  yon  fatal  billow  rise — ten  billows  heap'd  in  one  ! 

With  fearful  speed  the  dreary  mass  came  rolling,  rolling,  fast, 

As  if  the  scooping  sea  contain'd  one  only  wave  at  last ! 

Still  on  it  came,  with  horrid  roar,  a  swift  pursuing  grave  ; 

It  seem'd  as  though  some  cloud  had  turn'd  its  hugeness  to  a  wave  ! 

Its  briny  sleet  began  to  beat  beforehand  in  my  face — 

I  felt  the  rearward  keel  begin  to  climb  its  swelling  base  ! 

I  saw  its  alpine  hoary  head  impending  over  mine  ! 

Another  pulse — and  down  it  rush'd — an  avalanche  of  brine  ! 

Brief  pause  had  I,  on  God  to  cry,  or  think  of  wife  and  home  ; 

The  waters  closed — and  when  I  shriek'd,  I  shriek'd  below  the  foam  ! 

Beyond  that  rush  I  have  no  hint  of  any  after  deed — 

For  I  was  tossing  on  the  waste,  as  senseless  as  a  weed. 


"  Where  am  I?  in  the  breathing  world,  or  in  the  world  of  death?" 
With  sharp  and  sudden  pang  I  drew  another  birth  of  breath ; 
My  eyes  drank  in  a  doubtful  light,  my  ears  a  doubtful  sound — 
And  was  that  ship  a  real  ship  whose  tackle  seem'd  around  ? 
A  moon,  as  if  the  earthly  moon,  was  shining  up  aloft ; 
But  were  those  beams  the  very  beams  that  I  had  seen  so  oft  ? 
A  face,  that  mock'd  the  human  face,  before  me  watch'd  alone  ; 
But  were  those  eyes  the  eyes  of  man  that  look'd  against  my  own  ? 

Oh  !  never  may  the  moon  again  disclose  me  such  a  sight 
As  met  my  gaze,  when  first  I  look'd,  on  that  accursed  night ! 
I've  seen  a  thousand  horrid  shapes  begot  of  fierce  extremes 
Of  fever ;  and  most  frightful  things  have  haunted  in  my  dreams — 


The  Demon- Ship. 


Hyenas — cats — blood-loving  bats — and  apes  with  hateful  stare, — 
Pernicious  snakes,  and  shaggy  bulls — the  lion,  and  she-bear — 
Strong  enemies,  with  Judas  looks,  of  treachery  and  spite — 
Detested  features,  hardly  dimm'd  and  banish'd  by  the  light ! 
Pale-sheeted  ghosts,  with  gory  locks,  upstarting  from  their  tombs — 
All  phantasies  and  images  that  flit  in  midnight  glooms — • 
Hags,  goblins,  demons,  lemures,  have  made  me  all  aghast, — 
But  nothing  like  that  GRIMLY  ONE  who  stood  beside  the  mast ! 

His  cheek  was  black — his  brow  was  black — his  eyes  and  hair  as  dark  : 
His  hand  was  black,  and  where  it  touch'd,  it  left  a  sable  mark  ; 
His  throat  was  black,  his  vest  the  same,  and  when  I  look'd  beneath, 
His  breast  was  black — all,  all,  was  black  except  his  grinning  teeth. 
His  sooty  crew  were  like  in  hue,  as  black  as  Afric  slaves ! 
Oh,  horror  !  e'en  the  ship  was  black  that  plough'd  the  inky  waves  ! 

"  Alas  ! "  I  cried,  "  for  love  of  truth  and  blessed  mercy's  sake, 
Where  am  I  ?  in  what  dreadful  ship  ?  upon  what  dreadful  lake  ? 
What  shape  is  that,  so  very  grim,  and  black  as  any  coal? 
It  is  Mahound,  the  Evil  One,  and  he  has  gain'd  my  soul ! 
Oh,  mother  dear !  my  tender  nurse  !  dear  meadows  that  beguiled 
My  happy  days,  when  I  was  yet  a  little  sinless  child, — 
My  mother  dear — my  native  fields,  I  never  more  shall  see : 
I'm  sailing  in  the  Devil's  Ship,  upon  the  Devil's  Sea ! " 

Loud  laugh'd  that  SABLE  MARINER,  and  loudly  in  return 
His  sooty  crew  sent  forth  a  laugh  that  rang  from  stem  to  stern — 
A  dozen  pair  of  grimly  cheeks  were  crumpled  on  the  nonce — 
As  many  sets  of  grinning  teeth  came  shining  out  at  once  : 
A  dozen  gloomy  shapes  at  once  enjoy'd  the  merry  fit, 
With  shriek  and  yell,  and  oaths  as  well,  like  Demons  of  the  Pit. 
They  crow'd  their  fill,  and  then  the  Chief  made  answer  for  the  whole  : — 
"  Our  skins,"  said  he,  "  are  black  ye  see,  because  we  carry  coal ; 
You'll  find  your  mother  sure  enough,  and  see  your  native  fields — 
For  this  here  ship  has  pick'd  you  up — the  Mary  Ann  of  Shields  ! " 


an 


FAITHLESS  SALLY  BKOWN. 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


OUNG  Ben  he  was  a  nice  young  man, 

A  carpenter  bj  trade  ; 
And  he  fell  in  love  with  Sally  Brown, 
That  was  a  lady's  maid. 


But  as  they  fetch'd  a  walk  one  day, 
They  met  a  press-gang  crew  ; 

And  Sally  she  did  faint  away, 
Whilst  Ben  he  was  brought  to. 
212 


Faithless  Sally  Brown. 


The  Boatswain  swore  with  wicked  words, 

Enough  to  shock  a  saint, 
That  though  she  did  seem  in  a  fit, 

'Twas  nothing  but  a  feint. 

"  Come,  girl,"  said  he,  "  hold  up  your  head, 

He'll  be  as  good  as  me ; 
For  when  your  swain  is  in  our  boat, 

A  boatswain  he  will  be." 

So  when  they'd  made  their  game  of  her, 

And  taken  off  her  elf, 
She  roused,  and  found  she  only  was 

A  coming  to  herself. 

"  And  is  he  gone,  and  is  he  gone?" 

She  cried,  and  wept  outright : 
"  Then  I  will  to  the  water-side, 

And  see  him  out  of  sight." 

A  waterman  came  up  to  her, 

"  Now,  young  woman,"  said  he, 

"  If  you  weep  on  so,  you  will  make 
Eye-water  in  the  sea." 

"  Alas  !  they've  taken  my  beau,  Ben, 

To  sail  with  old  Benbow ;" 
And  her  woe  began  to  run  afresh, 

As  if  she'd  said,  Gee  woe  ! 

Says  he,  "  They've  only  taken  him 

To  the  Tender-ship,  you  see." 
"  The  Tender-ship,"  cried  Sally  Brown, 
.  "  What  a  hard-ship  that  must  be  ! 

"  Oh  !  would  I  were  a  mermaid  now, 
For  then  I'd  follow  him  ; 

213 


Faithless  Sally  Brown. 


But,  oh  ! — I'm  not  a  fish-woman, 
And  so  I  cannot  swim. 

"  Alas  !  I  was  not  born  beneath 

The  virgin  and  the  scales, 
So  I  must  curse  my  cruel  stars, 

And  walk  about  in  Wales." 

Now  Ben  had  sail'd  to  many  a  place 
That's  underneath  the  world  ; 

But  in  two  years  the  ship  came  home, 
And  all  her  sails  were  furl'd. 

But  when  he  call'd  on  Sally  Brown, 

To  see  how  she  got  on, 
He  found  she'd  got  another  Ben, 

Whose  Christian-name  was  John. 

"  Oh,  Sally  Brown,  oh,  Sally  Brown, 

How  could  you  serve  me  so, 
I've  met  with  many  a  breeze  before, 

But  never  such  a  blow  ! " 

Then  reading  on  his  'bacco  box, 

He  heaved  a  heavy  sigh, 
And  then  began  to  eye  his  pipe, 

And  then  to  pipe  his  eye. 

And  then  he  tried  to  sing  "  All's  Well," 
But  could  not,  though  he  tried  ; 

His  head  was  turn'd,  and  so  he  chew'd 
His  pigtail  till  he  died. 

His  death,  which  happen'd  in  his  b/rth,    . 

At  forty-odd  befell : 
They  went  and  told  the  sexton,  and 

The  sexton  toll'd  the  bell. 


SPRING.      A  NEW  VEESION. 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


1  Ham.  The  air  bites  shrewdly — it  is  very  cold. 
Hor.  It  is  a  nipping  and  eager  air." — HAMLET. 

OME,  gentle  Spring  !  ethereal  mildness,  come  !" 
Oh  !  Thomson,  void  of  rhyme  as  well  as  reason, 

How  couldst  thou  thus  poor  human  nature  hum  ? 
There's  no  such  season. 


Spring. 


'  The  Spring  !  I  shrink  and  shudder  at  her  name  ! 

For  why,  I  find  her  breath  a  bitter  blighter  ! 
And  suffer  from  her  blows,  as  if  they  came 
From  Spring  the  Fighter. 

Her  praises,  then,  let  hardy  poets  sing, 

And  be  her  tuneful  laureates  and  upholders, 

Who  do  not  feel  as  if  they  had  a  Spring 
Pour'd  down  their  shoulders  ! 


Let  others  eulogize  her  floral  shows  ; 

From  me  they  cannot  win  a  single  stanza. 
I  know  her  blooms  are  in  full  blow — and  so's 

The  Influenza. 

Her  cowslips,  stocks,  and  lilies  of  the  vale, 

Her  honey-blossoms  that  you  hear  the  bees  at, 

Her  pansies,  daffodils,  and  primrose  pale, 
Are  things  I  sneeze  at ! 

Fair  is  the  vernal  quarter  of  the  year ! 

And  fair  its  early  buddings  and  its  blowings — 
But  just  suppose  Consumption's  seeds  appear 

With  other  sowings ! 

For  me,  I  find,  when  eastern  winds  are  high, 

A  frigid,  not  a  genial  inspiration  ; 
Nor  can,  like  Iron-Chested  Chub,  defy 

An  inflammation. 

Smitten  by  breezes  from  the  land  of  plague, 
To  me  all  vernal  luxuries  are  fables, 

Oh  !  where's  the  Spring  in  a  rheumatic  leg, 
Stiff  as  a  table's  ? 


Spring. 


I  limp  in  agony — I  wheeze  and  cough  ; 

And  quake  with  Ague,  that  great  agitator ; 
Nor  dream,  before  July,  of  leaving  off 

My  respirator. 

What  wonder  if,  in  May  itself,  1  lack 

A  peg  for  laudatory  verse  to  hang  on  ? — 

Spring,  mild  and  gentle  ! — yes,  a  Spring-heel'd  Jack 
To  those  he  sprang  on. 

In  short,  whatever  panegyrics  lie 

In  fulsome  odes  too  many  to  be  cited, 

The  tenderness  of  Spring  is  all  my  eye, 
And  that  is  blighted  ! 


F  F 


A  COUNTRY  HOUSE  PAETY. 

LORD  BYROX. 

HE  gentlemen  got  up  betimes  to  shoot, 

Or  hunt :  the  young,  because  they  liked  the  sport  - 
The  first  thing  boys  like  after  play  and  fruit ; 

The  middle-aged,  to  make  the  day  more  short ; 
For  ennui  is  a  growth  of  English  root, 

Though  nameless  in  our  language  : — we  retort 
The  fact  for  words,  and  let  the  French  translate 
That  awful  yawn  which  sleep  cannot  abate. 

The  elderly  walk'd  through  the  library, 

And  tumbled  books,  or  criticised  the  pictures, 

Or  saunter'd  through  the  gardens  piteously, 

And  made  upon  the  hot-house  several  strictures, 

Or  rode  a  nag  which  trotted  not  too  high, 
Or  on  the  morning  papers  read  their  lectures, 

Or  on  the  watch  their  longing  eyes  would  fix, 

Longing  at  sixty  for  the  hour  of  six. 

But  none  were  "  gene : "  the  great  hour  of  union 
Was  rung  by  dinner's  knell  ;  till  then  all  were 

Masters  of  their  own  time — or  in  communion, 
Or  solitary,  as  they  chose  to  bear 

The  hours,  which  how  to  pass  is  but  to  few  known. 
Each  rose  up  at  his  own,  and  had  to  spare 

What  time  he  chose  for  dress,  and  broke  his  fast 

When,  where,  and  how  he  chose  for  that  repast. 

218 


A  Country  House  Party. 


The  ladies — some  rouged,  some  a  little  pale — 
Met  the  morn  as  they  might.     If  fine,  they  rode, 

Or  walk'd ;  if  foul,  they  read,  or  told  a  tale, 
Sung,  or  rehearsed  the  last  dance  from  abroad ; 

Discuss'd  the  fashion  which  might  next  prevail, 
And  settled  bonnets  by  the  newest  code, 

Or  cramm'd  twelve  sheets  into  one  little  letter, 

To  make  each  correspondent  a  new  debtor. 

For  some  had  absent  lovers,  all  had  friends. 

The  earth  has  nothing  like  a  she  epistle, 
And  hardly  heaven — because  it  never  ends. 

I  love  the  mystery  of  a  female  missal, 
Which,  like  a  creed,  ne'er  says  all  it  intends, 

But  full  of  cunning  as  Ulysses'  whistle, 
When  he  allured  poor  Dolon : — you  had  better 
Take  care  what  you  reply  to  such  a  letter. 

Then  there  were  billiards  ;  cards,  too,  but  no  dice  ;- 
Save  in  the  clubs  no  man  of  honour  plays  ; — 

Boats  when  'twas  water,  skating  when  'twas  ice, 
And  the  hard  frost  destroy'd  the  scenting  days : 

And  angling,  too,  that  solitary  vice, 
Whatever  Izaak  Walton  sings  or  says : 

The  quaint,  old,  cruel  coxcomb,  in  his  gullet 

Should  have  a  hook,  and  a  small  trout  to  pull  it. 

With  evening  came  the  banquet  and  the  wine ; 

The  conversazione  ;  the  duet, 
Attuned  by  voices  more  or  less  divine 

(My  heart  or  head  aches  with  the  memory  yet). 
The  four  Miss  Rawbolds  in  a  glee  would  shine ; 

But  the  two  youngest  loved  more  to  be  set 
Down  to  the  harp — because  to  music's  charms 
They  added  graceful  necks,  white  hands  and  arms. 

Sometimes  a  dance  (though  rarely  on  field  days, 
For  then  the  gentlemen  were  rather  tired) 

219 


A  Country  House  Party. 


Display'd  some  sylph-like  figures  in  its  maze  ; 

Then  there  was  small-talk  ready  when  required ; 
Flirtation — but  decorous  ;  the  mere  praise 

Of  charms  that  should  or  should  not  be  admired. 
The  hunters  fought  their  fox-hunt  o'er  again, 
And  then  retreated  soberly — at  ten. 

The  politicians,  in  a  nook  apart, 

Discuss'd  the  world,  and  settled  all  the  spheres  : 
The  wits  watch'd  every  loophole  for  their  art, 

To  introduce  a  bon-mot  head  and  ears ; 
Small  is  the  rest  of  those  who  would  be  smart, 

A  moment's  good  thing  may  have  cost  them  years 
Before  they  find  an  hour  to  introduce  it ; 
And  then,  even  then,  some  bore  may  make  them  lose  it. 

But  all  was  gentle  and  aristocratic 

In  this  our  party  ;  polish'd,  smooth,  and  cold", 
As  Phidian  forms  cut  out  of  marble  Attic. 

There  now  are  no  Squire  Westerns  as  of  old  ; 
And  our  Sophias  are  not  so  emphatic, 

But  fair  as  then,  or  fairer  to  behold. 
We  have  no  accomplish'd  blackguards,  like  Tom  Jones, 
But  gentlemen  in  stays,  as  stiff  as  stones. 

They  separated  at  an  early  hour  ; 

That  is,  ere  midnight — which  is  London's  noon  : 
But  in  the  country  ladies  seek  their  bower 

A  little  earlier  than  the  waning  noon. 
Peace  to  the  slumbers  of  each  folded  flower — 

May  the  rose  call  back  its  true  colour  soon  ! 
Good  hours  of  fair  cheeks  are  the  fairest  tinters, 
And  lower  the  price  of  rouge — at  least  some  winters. 


220 


CAPTAIN  PATON. 


JOHN  GIBSON  LOCKHART. 


OUCH  once  more  a  sober  measure,  and  let  punch  and  tears 

be  shed, 

For  a  prince  of  good  old  fellows  that  alack-a-day  is  dead, 
A  prince  of  worthy  fellows,  and  a  pretty  man  also, 
That  has  left  the  Salt-market  in  sorrow,  grief,  and  wo  ; 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo ! 


His  waistcoat,  coat,  and  breeches,  were  all  cut  off  the  same  web, 
Of  a  beautiful  snuff-colour,  or  a  modest  genty  drab, 
The  blue  stripe  in  his  stocking  round  his  neat  slim  leg  did  go, 
And  his  ruffles,  of  the  cambric  fine,  were  whiter  than  the  snow ; 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 


His  hair  was  curl'd  in  order  at  the  rising  of  the  sun, 
In  comely  rows  and  buckles  smart  that  round  his  ears  did  run, 
In  front  there  was  a  toupee,  that  some  inches  up  did  grow, 
And  behind  there  was  a  long  queue  that  did  o'er  his  shoulders  flow ; 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 

221 


Captain  Pat  on. 


And  whenever  we  foregather'd  he  took  off  his  wee  three  cockit, 

And  he  proffer'd  you  his  snuff-box,  which  he  drew  from  his  side-pocket, 


222 


Captain  Pat  on. 


And  on  Burdett  or  Bonaparte  he'd  make  a  remark  or  so, 
And  then  along  the  plainstones  like  a  provost  he  would  go  ; 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Pat  on  no  mo  ! 

In  dirty  days  he  picked  well  his  footsteps  with  his  rattan, 
Oh !  you  ne'er  could  see  the  smallest  speck  on  the  shoes  of  Captain  Paton ; 
And  on  entering  the  coffee-room  at  two,  all  men  would  know, 
They  would  see  him  with  his  Courier  in  the  middle  of  the  row  ; 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 

Now  and  then  upon  a  Sunday  he  invited  me  to  dine 
On  a  herring  and  a  mutton  chop,  which  his  maid  dress'd  very  fine, 
There  was  also  a  little  Malmsey,  and  a  bottle  of  Bourdeaux, 
Which  between  me  and  the  Captain  pass'd  nimbly  to  and  fro  ; 
Oh,  I  ne'er  shall  take  pot-luck  with  Captain  Paton  no  mo ! 

Or,  if  a  bowl  was  mention'd,  the  Captain  he  would  ring, 

And  bid  Nelly  to  the  West  Port  run,  and  a  stoup  of  water  bring ; 

Then  he  would  mix  the  genuine  stuff,  as  they  made  it  long  ago, 

With  limes,  that  on  his  property  in  Trinidad  did  grow ; 

Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  taste  the  like  of  Captain  Paton's  punch  no  mo ! 

Then  all  the  time  he  would  discourse  so  sensible  and  courteous, 

Perhaps  talking  of  last  sermon  he  heard  from  Dr.  Porteous, 

Or  some  little  bit  of  scandal  about  Mrs.  So-and-so, 

Which  he  scarce  could  credit,  having  heard  the  con  but  not  the  pro  ; 

Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  hear  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 


And  when  the  candles  were  brought  forth,  and  the  night  was  fairly 

setting  in, 

He  would  tell  some  fine  old  stories,  about  Miuden  field  or  Dcttingen, 
How  he  fought  with  a  French  major,  and  dispatch'd  him  at  a  blow, 
While  the  blood  ran  out  like  water  on  the  soft  grass  below ; 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 

223 


Captain  Pat  on. 


But  at  length  the  Captain  sicken'd,  and  grew  worse  from  day  to  day, 
And  all  miss'd  him  in  the  coffee-room,  from  which  now  he  stay'd  away, 
On  Sabbaths  too  the  wee  kirk  made  a  melancholy  show, 
All  for  wanting  of  the  presence  of  our  venerable  beau  ; 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  .mo  ! 

And  in  spite  of  all  that  Cleghorn  and  Corkindale  could  do, 

'Twas  plain,  from  twenty  symptoms,  that  death  was  in  his  view, 

So  the  Captain  made  his  testament,  and  submitted  to  his  foe, 

And  we  laid  him  by  the  Ram's-horn  kirk, — 'tis  the  way  we  all  must  go  ; 

Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo  ! 

Touch  once  more  a  sober  measure,  and  let  punch  and  tears  be  shed, 
For  a  prince  of  good  old  fellows  that  alack-a-day  is  dead, 
A  prince  of  worthy  fellows,  and  a  pretty  man  also, 
That  has  left  the  Salt-market  in  sorrow,  grief,  and  wo ; 
Oh,  we  ne'er  shall  see  the  like  of  Captain  Paton  no  mo ! 


224 


THE  RED  FISHEKMAN. 


WINTHORP    MACKWORTH    PRAED. 


"  Oh  flesh,  flesh,  how  art  thou  fishified !" 

ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 


HE  Abbot  arose,  and  closed  his  hood, 
And  donn'd  his  sandal  shoon, 
And  wander'd  forth,  alone,  to  look 
Upon  the  summer  moon : 
A  starlight  sky  was  o'er  his  head, 

225  G  0 


The  Red  Fisherman. 


A  quiet  breeze  around ; 

And  the  flowers  a  thrilling  fragrance  shed, 

And  the  waves  a  soothing  sound : 

It  was  not  an  hour,  nor  a  scene,  for  aught 

But  love  and  calm  delight ; 

Yet  the  holy  man  had  a  cloud  of  thought 

On  his  wrinkled  brow  that  night. 

He  gazed  on  the  river  that  gurgled  by, 

But  he  thought  not  of  the  reeds  : 

He  clasp'd  his  gilded  rosary, 

But  he  did  not  tell  the  beads  ; 

If  he  look'd  to  the  heaven,  'twas  not  to  invoke 

The  Spirit  that  dwelleth  there  ; 

If  he  open'd  his  lips,  the  words  they  spoke 

Had  never  the  tone  of  prayer. 

A  pious  priest  might  the  Abbot  seem, 

He  had  sway'd  the  crosier  well ; 

But  what  was  the  theme  of  the  Abbot's  dream, 

The  Abbot  were  loth  to  tell. 

Companionless,  for  a  mile  or  more, 

He  traced  the  windings  of  the  shore. 

Oh,  beauteoiis  is  that  river  still, 

As  it  winds  by  many  a  sloping  hill, 

And  many  a  dim  o'erarching  grove, 

And  many  a  flat  and  sunny  cove 

And  terraced  lawns,  whose  bright  arcades 

The  honeysuckle  sweetly  shades, 

And  rocks  whose  very  crags  seem  bowers, 

So  gay  they  are  with  grass  and  flowers ! 

But  the  Abbot  was  thinking  of  scenery, 

About  as  much,  in  sooth, 

As  a  lover  thinks  of  constancy, 

Or  an  advocate  of  truth. 

He  did  not  mark  how  the  skies  in  wrath 

Grew  dark  above  his  head ; 

He  did  not  mark  how  the  mossy  path 

226 


The  Red  Fisherman. 


Grew  damp  beneath  his  tread  ; 

And  nearer  he  came,  and  still  more  near, 

To  a  pool,  in  whose  recess 

The  water  had  slept  for  many  a  year, 

Unchanged  and  motionless  ; 

From  the  river  stream  it  spread  away 

The  space  of  half  a  rood  ; 

The  surface  had  the  hue  of  clay 

And  the  scent  of  human  blood  ; 

The  trees  and  the  herbs  that  round  it  grew 

Were  venomous  and  foul ; 

And  the  birds  that  through  the  bushes  flew 

Were  the  vulture  and  the  owl ; 

The  water  was  as  dark  as  rank 

As  ever  a  company  pump'd ; 

And  the  perch,  that  was  netted  and  laid  on  the  bank, 

Grew  rotten  while  it  jump'd  ; 

And  bold  was  he  who  thither  came 

At  midnight,  man  or  boy  ; 

For  the  place  was  cursed  with  an  evil  name, 

And  that  name  was  the  "  Devil's  Decoy  !" 

The  Abbot  was  weary  as  abbot  could  be, 

And  he  sat  down  to  rest  on  the  stump  of  a  tree : 

When  suddenly  rose  a  dismal  tone — 

Was  it  a  song,  or  was  it  a  moan  ? 

"  Oh  ho,  Oh  ho  ! 

Above,  below 

Lightly  and  brightly  they  glide  and  go ; 
The  hungry  and  keen  on  the  top  are  leaping, 
The  lazy  and  fat  in  the  depths  are  sleeping ; 
Fishing  is  fine  when  the  pool  is  muddy, 
Broiling  is  rich  when  the  coals  are  ruddy  !" 
In  a  monstrous  fright,  by  the  murky  light, 
He  look'd  to  the  left  and  he  look'd  to  the  right, 
And  what  was  the  vision  close  before  him, 
That  flung  such  a  sudden  stupor  o'er  him  ? 
'Twas  a  sight  to  make  the  hair  uprise, 

227 


The  Red  Fisherman. 


And  the  life  blood  colder  run : 

The  startled  priest  struck  both  his  thighs, 

And  the  abbey  clock  struck  one  ! 

All  alone,  by  the  side  of  the  pool, 

A  tall  man  sat  on  a  three-legg'd  stool, 

Kicking  his  heels  on  the  dewy  sod, 

And  putting  in  order  his  reel  and  rod  ; 

Bed  were  the  rags  his  shoulders  wore, 

And  a  high  red  cap  on  his  head  he  bore ; 

His  arms  and  his  legs  were  long  and  bare ; 

And  two  or  three  locks  of  long  red  hair 

Were  tossing  about  his  scraggy  neck, 

Like  a  tatter'd  flag  o'er  a  splitting  wreck. 

It  might  be  Time,  or  it  might  be  trouble, 

Had  bent  that  stout  back  nearly  double — 

Sunk  in  their  deep  and  hollow  sockets 

That  blazing  couple  of  Congreve  rockets, 

And  shrunk  and  shrivell'd  that  tawny  skin, 

Till  it  hardly  cover'd  the  bones  within. 

The  line  the  abbot  saw  him  throw 

Had  been  fashion'd  and  form'd  long  ages  ago, 

And  the  hands  that  work'd  his  foreign  vest 

Long  ages  ago  had  gone  to  their  rest : 

You  would  have  sworn,  as  you  look'd  on  them, 

He  had  fish'd  in  the  flood  with  Ham  and  Shem  ! 

There  was  turning  of  keys,  and  creaking  of  locks, 

As  he  took  forth  a  bait  from  his  iron  box. 

Minnow  or  gentil,  worm  or  fly — 

It  seem'd  not  such  to  the  Abbot's  eye : 

Gaily  it  glitter'd  with  jewel  and  gem, 

And  its  shape  was  the  shape  of  a  diadem. 

It  was  fasten'd  a  gleaming  hook  about, 

By  a  chain  within  and  a  chain  without ; 

The  fisherman  gave  it  a  kick  and  a  spin 

And  the  water  fizz'd  as  it  tumbled  in  ! 

223 


The  Red  Fisherman. 


From  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
Strange  and  varied  sounds  had  birth — 
Now  the  battle's  bursting  peal, 
Neigh  of  steed  and  clang  of  steel ; 
Now  an  old  man's  hollow  groan 
Echoed  from  the  dungeon  stone ; 
Now  the  weak  and  wailing  cry 
Of  a  stripling's  agony ! 

Cold  by  this  was  the  midnight  air ; 

But  the  Abbot's  blood  ran  colder, 

When  he  saw  a  gasping  knight  lie  there, 

With  a  gash  beneath  his  clotted  hair, 

And  a  hump  upon  his  shoulder. 

And  the  loyal  churchman  strove  in  vain 

To  mutter  a  Pater  Noster ; 

For  he  who  writhed  in  mortal  pain 

Was  camp'd  that  night  on  Bosworth  plain, 

The  cruel  Duke  of  Glo'ster. 


There  was  turning  of  keys,  and  creaking  of  locks, 

As  he  took  forth  a  bait  from  his  iron  box. 

It  was  a  haunch  of  princely  size, 

Filling  with  fragrance  earth  and  skies ; 

The  corpulent  Abbot  knew  full  well 

The  swelling  form  and  the  steaming  smell ; 

Never  a  monk  that  wore  a  hood 

Could  better  have  guess'd  the  very  wood 

Where  the  noble  hart  had  stood  at  bay, 

Weary  and  wounded,  at  close  of  day. 

Sounded  then  the  noisy  glee 
Of  a  revelling  company — 
Sprightly  story,  wicket  jest, 
Rated  servant,  greeted  guest, 

229 


The  Red  Fisherman. 


Flow  of  wine,  and  flight  of  cork, 
Stroke  of  knife,  and  thrust  of  fork  : 
But,  where'er  the  hoard  was  spread, 
Grace,  I  ween,  was  never  said ! 

Pulling  and  tugging  the  fisherman  sat ; 

And  the  priest  was  ready  to  vomit, 
When  he  haul'd  out  a  gentleman,  fine  and  fat, 
With  a  belly  as  hig  as  a  brimming  vat, 

And  a  nose  as  red  as  a  comet. 
"  A  capital  stew,"  the  fisherman  said, 

"  With  cinnamon  and  sherry ! " 
And  the  Abbot  turn'd  away  his  head, 
For  his  brother  was  lying  before  him  dead, 

The  mayor  of  St.  Edmund's  Bury  ! 

There  was  turning  of  keys,  and  creaking  of  locks, 

As  he  took  forth  a  bait  from  his  iron  box. 

It  was  a  bundle  of  beautiful  things — 

A  peacock's  tail,  and  a  butterfly's  wings, 

A  scarlet  slipper,  an  auburn  curl, 

A  mantle  of  silk,  and  a  bracelet  of  pearl, 

And  a  packet  of  letters,  from  whose  sweet  fold 

Such  a  stream  of  delicate  odours  roll'd, 

That  the  Abbot  fell  on  his  face  and  fainted, 

And  deem'd  his  spirit  was  half-way  sainted. 

Sounds  seem'd  dropping  from  the  skies, 
Stifled  whispers,  smother'd  sighs, 
And  the  breath  of  vernal  gales,, 
And  the  voice  of  nightingales  : 
But  the  nightingales  were  mute, 
Envious  when  an  unseen  lute 
Shaped  the  music  of  its  chords 
Into  passion's  thrilling  words  : 


'The  Red  Fisherman. 


"  Smile,  lady,  smile  ! — I  will  not  set 
Upon  my  brow  the  coronet, 
Till  thou  wilt  gather  roses  white 
To  wear  around  its  gems  of  light. 
Smile,  lady,  smile  ! — I  will  not  see 
Rivers  and  Hastings  bend  the  knee 
Till  those  bewitching  lips  of  thine 
Will  bid  me  rise  in  bliss  from  mine. 
Smile,  lady,  smile  ! — for  who  would  win 
A  loveless  throne  through  guilt  and  sin  ? 
Or  who  would  reign  o'er  vale  and  hill, 
If  woman's  heart  were  rebel  still  ?" 

One  jerk,  and  there  a  lady  lay, 

A  lady  wondrous  fair ; 

But  the  rose  of  her  lip  had  faded  away, 

And  her  cheek  was  as  white  and  as  cold  as  clay, 

And  torn  was  her  raven  hair. 

"  Ah  ha  ! "  said  the  fisher,  in  merry  guise, 

"  Her  gallant  was  hook'd  before ;  " 

And  the  Abbot  heaved  some  piteous  sighs, 

For  oft  he  had  bless'd  those  deep  blue  eyes, 

The  eyes  of  Mistress  Shore  ! 

There  was  turning  of  keys,  and  creaking  of  locks, 

As  he  took  forth  a  bait  from  his  iron  box. 

Many  the  cunning  sportsman  tried, 

Many  he  flung  with  a  frown  aside  ; 

A  minstrel's  harp,  and  a  miser's  chest, 

A  hermit's  cowl,  and  a  baron's  crest, 

Jewels  of  lustre,  robes  of  price, 

Tomes  of  heresy,  loaded  dice, 

And  golden  cups  of  the  brightest  wine 

That  ever  was  press'd  from  the  Burgundy  vine  ; 

There  was  a  perfume  of  sulphur  and  nitre, 

As  he  came  at  last  to  a  bishop's  mitre  ! 

231 


The  Red  Fisherman. 


From  top  to  toe  the  Abbot  shook, 

As  the  fisherman  arm'd  his  golden  hook  ; 

And  awfully  were  his  features  wrought 

By  some  dark  dream  or  waken'd  thought. 

Look  how  the  fearful  felon  gazes 

On  the  scaffold  his  country's  vengeance  raises, 

When  the  lips  are  crack'd  and  the  jaws  are  dry 

With  the  thirst  which  only  in  death  shall  die  ! 

Mark  the  mariner's  frenzied  frown 

As  the  swaling  wherry  settles  down, 

When  peril  has  numb'd  the  sense  and  will 

Though  the  hand  and  the  foot  may  struggle  still ! 

Wilder  far  was  the  Abbot's  glance, 

Deeper  far  was  the  Abbot's  trance  ; 

Fix'd  as  the  monument,  still  as  air, 

He  bent  no  knee,  and  he  breathed  no  prayer  ; 

But  he  sign'd — he  knew  not  why  or  how — 

The  sign  of  the  Cross  on  his  clumsy  brow. 

There  was  turning  of  keys,  and  creaking  of  locks, 
As  he  stalk'd  away  with  his  iron  box. 

"  Oh  ho,  Oh  ho  ! 

The  cock  doth  crow  ; 
It  is  time  for  the  fisher  to  rise  and  go. 
Fair  luck  to  the  Abbot,  fair  luck  to  the  shrine  ! 
He  hath  gnaw'd  in  twain  my  choicest  line  ; 
Let  him  swim  to  the  north,  let  him  swim  to  the  south, 
The  Abbot  will  carry  my  hook  in  his  mouth ! " 

The  Abbot  had  preach'd  for  many  years, 

With  as  clear  articulation 

As  ever  was  heard  in  the  House  of  Peers 

Against  emancipation ; 

His  words  had  made  battalions  quake, 

Had  roused  the  zeal  of  martyrs  ; 

He  kept  the  court  an  hour  awake, 

232 


The  Red  Fisherman. 


And  the  king  himself  three-quarters  : 

But  ever,  from  that  hour,  'tis  said, 

lie  stamtner'd  and  he  stuttcr'd, 

As  if  an  axe  went  through  his  head, 

With  every  word  he  utter'd, 

He  stutter'd  o'er  blessing,  he  stutter'd  o'er  ban, 

He  stutter'd,  drunk  or  dry  ; 

And  none  but  he  and  the  fisherman 

Could  tell  the  reason  why  ! 


SALAD. 


SYDNEY  SMITH. 


O  make  this  condiment,  your  poet  begs 
The  pounded  yellow  of  two  hard-boil'd  eggs  ; 
Two  boil'd  potatoes,  pass'd  through  kitchen-sieve, 
Smoothness  and  softness  to  the  salad  give ; 

Let  onion  atoms  lurk  within  the  bowl, 

And,  half-suspected,  animate  the  whole. 

Of  mordant  mustard  add  a  single  spoon, 

Distrust  the  condiment  that  bites  too  soon  ; 

But  deem  it  not,  thou  man  of  herbs,  a  fault, 

To  add  a  double  quantity  of  salt. 

And,  lastly,  o'er  the  flavour'd  compound  toss 

A  magic  soup-spoon  of  anchovy  sauce. 

Oh,  green  and  glorious  !    Oh,  herbaceous  treat ! 

'Twould  tempt  the  dying  anchorite  to  eat ; 

234 


Salad. 


Back  to  the  world  he'd  turn  his  fleeting-  soul, 
And  plunge  his  fingers  in  the  salad  bowl ! 
Serenely  full,  the  epicure  would  say, 
"  Fate  cannot  harm  me,  I  have  dined  to-day  ! ' 


THE  LITTLE  VULGAR  BOY. 

RICHARD  HARRIS  13ARHAJ1. 

MR.  SIMPKINSON  (loquitur). 

WAS  in  Margate  last  July,  I  walk'd  upon  the  pier, 
I  saw  a  little  vulgar  Boy — I  said,  "  What  make  you  here  ? — 
The  gloom  upon  your  youthful  cheek  speaks  anything  hut  joy  ;"" 
Again  I  said,  "  What  make  you  here,  you  little  vulgar  Boy  ?'* 


The  Little  Vulgar  Boy. 


He  frown 'd,  that  little  vulgar  Boy — he  deem'd  I  meant  to  scoff — 
And,  when  the  little  heart  is  big,  a  little  "  sets  it  off;" 
He  put  his  finger  in  his  mouth,  his  little  hosom  rose, — 
He  had  no  little  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  little  nose ! 

*'  Hark  !  don't  you  hear,  my  little  man  ? — it's  striking  nine,"  I  said, 
"  An  hour  when  all  good  little  boys  and  girls  should  be  in  bed. 
Run  home  and  get  your  supper,  else  your  Ma'  will  scold — oh  !  fie ! — 
It's  very  wrong  indeed  for  little  boys  to  stand  and  cry ! " 

The  tear-drop  in  his  little  eye  again  began  to  spring, 

His  bosom  throbb'd  with  agony— he  cried  like  any  thing ! 

I  stoop'd,  and  thus  amidst  his  sobs  I  heard  him  murmur — "  Ah ! 

I  haven't  got  no  supper  '  and  I  haven't  got  no  Ma' ! — 

"  My  father,  he  is  on  the  seas, — my  mother's  dead  and  gone ! 
And  I  am  here,  on  this  here  pier,  to  roam  the  world  alone ; 
I  have  not  had,  this  live-long  day,  one  drop  to  cheer  my  heart, 
Nor  '  brown'  to  buy  a  bit  of  bread  with, — let  alone  a  tart. 

"  If  there's  a  soul  will  give  me  food,  or  find  me  in  employ, 
By  day  or  night,  then  blow  me  tight !"  (he  was  a  vulgar  Boy;) 
"  And  now  I'm  here,  from  this  here  pier  it  is  my  fix'd  intent 
To  jump,  as  Mr.  Levi  did,  from  off  the  Monu-ment !" 

"  Cheer  up  !  cheer  up  !  my  little  man — cheer  up !"  I  kindly  said, 
"  You  are  a  naughty  boy  to  take  such  things  into  your  head : 
If  you  should  jump  from  off  the  pier,  you'd  surely  break  your  legs, 
Perhaps  your  neck — then  Bogey  'd  have  you,  sure  as  eggs  are  eggs ! 

"  Come  home  with  me,  my  little  man,  come  home  with  me  and  sup ; 
My  landlady  is  Mrs.  Jones — we  must  not  keep  her  up — 
There's  roast  potatoes  on  the  fire, — enough  for  me  and  you — 
Come  home, — you  little  vulgar  Boy — I  lodge  at  Number  2." 

I  took  him  home  to  Number  2,  the  house  beside  "  The  Foy," 
I  bade  him  wipe  his  dirty  shoes, — that  little  vulgar  Boy, — 

236 


The  Little  Vulgar  Boy. 


And  then  I  said  to  Mistress  Jones,  the  kindest  of  her  sex, 
"  Pray  be  so  good  as  go  and  fetch  a  pint  of  double  X  !" 

But  Mrs.  Jones  was  rather  cross,  she  made  a  little  noise, 
She  said  she  "  did  not  like  to  wait  on  little  vulgar  Boys." 
She  with  her  apron  wiped  the  plates,  and,  as  she  rubb'd  the  delf, 
Said  I  might  "  go  to  Jericho,  and  fetch  my  beer  myself ! " 

I  did  not  go  to  Jericho — I  went  to  Mr.  Cobb — 

I  changed  a  shilling — (which  in  town  the  people  call  "  a  Bob") — 

It  was  not  so  much  for  myself  as  for  that  vulgar  child — 

And  I  said,  "  A  pint  of  double  X,  and  please  to  draw  it  mild !" 

When  I  came  back  I  gazed  about — I  gazed  on  stool  and  chair — 
I  could  not  see  my  little  friend — because  he  was  not  there ! 
I  peep'd  beneath  the  table-cloth — beneath  the  sofa,  too, — 
I  said,  "  You  little  vulgar  Boy !  why,  what's  become  of  you?" 

I  could  not  see  my  table-spoons — I  look'd,  but  could  not  see 
The  little  fiddle-pattern  ones  I  use  when  I'm  at  tea ; 
— I  could  not  see  my  sugar-tongs — my  silver  watch — oh,  dear  ! 
I  know  'twas  on  the  mantel-piece  when  I  went  out  for  beer. 

I  could  not  see  my  Mackintosh ! — it  was  not  to  be  seen  ! 
Nor  yet  my  best  white  beaver  hat,  broad-brimm'd  and  lined  with  green ; 
My  carpet-bag,  my  cruet-stand,  that  holds  my  sauce  and  soy, — 
My  roast  potatoes  ! — all  are  gone  ! — and  so 's  that  vulgar  Boy  ! 

I  rang  the  bell  for  Mrs.  Jones,  for  she  was  down  below, 
"  — Oh,  Mrs.  Jones  !  what  do  you  think  ? — ain't  this  a  pretty  go? 
—That  horrid  little  vulgar  Boy,  whom  I  brought  here  to-night, 
—He's  stolen  my  things  and  run  away  !" — Says  she,  "  And  sarve  you  right  !'' 

****** 

Next  morning  I  was  up  betimes — I  sent  the  Crier  round, 
All  with  his  bell  and  gold-laced  hat,  to  say  I'd  give  a  pound 
To  find  that  little  vulgar  Boy,  who'd  gone  and  used  me  so  ; 
But  when  the  Crier  cried,  "  O  yes !"  the  people  cried,  "  O  no  !" 

237 


The  Little  Vulgar  Boy. 


I  went  to  "  Jarvis*  Landing-place,"  the  glory  of  the  town, 
There  was  a  common  sailor-man  a-walking  up  and  down  ; 
I  told  my  tale — he  seem'd  to  think  I'd  not  been  treated  well, 
And  call'd  me  "  Poor  old  Buffer !"  what  that  means  I  cannot  tell. 

That  sailor-man,  he  said  he'd  seen  that  morning  on  the  shore, 

A  son  of — something — 'twas  a  name  I'd  never  heard  before, 

A  little  "  gallows-looking  chap" — dear  me ;  what  could  he  mean  ? 

With  a  "  carpet-swab"  and  "  muckingtogs,"  and  a  hat  turn'd  up  with  green. 

He  spoke  about  his  "  precious  eyes,"  and  said  he'd  seen  him  "  sheer," 
— It's  very  odd  that  sailor-men  should  talk  so  very  queer — 
And  then  he  hitch'd  his  trowsers  up,  as  is,  I'm  told,  their  use, 
— It's  very  odd  that  sailor-men  should  wear  those  things  so  loose. 

I  did  not  understand  him  well,  but  think  he  meant  to  say 

He'd  seen  that  little  vulgar  Boy,  that  morning  swim  away 

In  Captain  Large's  Royal  George  about  an  hour  before, 

And  they  were  now,  as  he  supposed,  "  somewheres"  about  the  Nore. 

A  landsman  said,  "  I  twig  the  chap — he's  been  upon  the  Mill — 
And  'cause  he  gammons  so  the  flats,  ve  calls  him  Veeping  Bill !" 
He  said  "  he'd  done  me  wery  brown,"  and  "  nicely  stow'd  the  swag."" 
— That's  French,  I  fancy,  for  a  hat — or  else  a  carpet-bag. 

I  went  and  told  the  constable  my  property  to  track ; 

He  ask'd  me  if  "  I  did  not  wish  that  I  might  get  it  back  ?" 

I  answer'd,  "  To  be  sure  I  do  ! — it's  what  I  come  about." 

He  smiled  and  said,  "  Sir,  does  your  mother  know  that  you  are  out  ?" 

Not  knowing  what  to  do,  I  thought  I'd  hasten  back  to  town, 

And  beg  our  own  Lord  Mayor  to  catch  the  boy  who'd  "  done  me  brown." 

His  Lordship  very  kindly  said  he'd  try  and  find  him  out, 

But  he  "  rather  thought  that  there  were  several  vulgar  boys  about." 

238 


The  Little  Vulgar  Boy. 


He  sent  for  Mr.  Whithair  then,  and  I  described  "  the  swag," 
My  Mackintosh,  my  sugar-tongs,  my  spoons,  and  carpet-bag ; 
He  promised  that  the  Xevv  Police  should  all  their  powers  employ  ; 
But  never  to  this  hour  have  I  beheld  that  vulgar  Boy  ! 


MORAL. 

Remember,  then,  what  when  a  boy  I've  heard  my  Grandma'  tell, 
"  BE  WARN'D  IN  TIME  BY  OTHERS'  HARM,  AND  YOU  SHALL  DO  FULL 

WELL ! " 

Don't  link  yourself  with  vulgar  folks,  who've  got  no  fix'd  abode, 

Tell  lies,  use  naughty  words,  and  say  they  "  wish  they  may  be  blow'd  ! " 

Don't  take  too  much  of  double  X  ! — and  don't  at  night  go  out 

To  fetch  your  beer  yourself,  but  make  the  pot-boy  bring  your  stout ! 

And  when  you  go  to  Margate  next,  just  stop  and  ring  the  bell, 

Give  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Jones,  and  say  I'm  pretty  well ! 


23S 


THE  BELLE  OF  THE  BALL. 

ALBERT  SMITH. 

HE  very  last  guests  have  departed  ; 
The  candles  burnt  into  thin  air : 
The  ball-room  is  dark  and  deserted, 

And  silent  again  is  the  square. 
The  band,  tired  of  playing  and  blowing, 


The  Belle  of  the  Ball. 


Are  wishing  Herr  Koenig  good  night, 
And  Gunter's  assistants  are  going, 

Assured  that  their  plate  is  all  right ; 
And  somebody  says  it  is  snowing, 

And  there's  not  one  hack  cab  left  in  sight. 

The  page  in  the  study  is  lying 

Asleep  on  the  dining-room  chairs, 
And  the  housemaids  to  slumber  are  trying, 

And  the  butler  is  tipsy  down  stairs  ; 
And  the  love-birds,  who  long  have  been  blinking, 

Quite  scared  by  the  music  and  light, 
And  e'en  the  canaries  are  thinking, 

At  last,  that  it  must  be  the  night, 
And,  tired  of  chuffing  and  winking, 

Are  tucking  their  heads  out  of  sight. 

And  she,  the  fair  queen  of  the  numbers 

Who  came  to  that  beautiful  ball, 
Perhaps  thinks  now  of  me  in  her  slumbers, 

And  perhaps — horrid  thought — not  at  all. 
In  nights  of  such  unalloy'd  pleasure 

Why  cannot  existence  be  pass'd  ? 
To  laugh  at  all  power  and  treasure, 

If  life  could  be  always  so  fast ; 
To  spend  years  in  a  Polka's  gay  measure, 

And  die  of  a  Sturm-march  at  last ! 

I  think  that  I  made  an  impression, 

Because  in  the  course  of  the  night, 
Whilst  polking,  she  made  a  confession, 

That  she  liked  to  be  held  rather  tight. 
Then,  what  her  mamma  had  just  told  her 

Not  minding,  but,  taking  some  ice, 
Just  putting  a  scarf  on  her  shoulder, 

Because  the  cold  stairs  were  "  so  nice !" 

241  I  I 


The  Belle  of  the  Ball. 


And  afterwards,  grown  somewhat  bolder, 
We  waltz'd  down  some  wall-flowers  twice. 


When  Vane  coarsely  said  she  was  "  stunning," 

He  wanted  to  stand  in  my  shoes ; 
She  gave  me  a  deux  temps  twice  running, 

And  threw  over  one  of  the  Blues. 
And  then  she  got  rid  of  her  brother 

So  well,  when  the  supper-time  came  ; 
And  then  we  kept  by  one  another : 

At  one  time  our  plate  was  the  same, 
A  very  long  way  from  her  mother, 

Conceal'd  by  &  punier  du  creme. 

She  told  me  she  loved  lobster  salad, 

And  rode  in  the  park  every  day, 
And  doted  on  Hayes's  last  ballad, 

And  Tennyson's  "  Queen  of  the  May;" 
And  she  pull'd  cracker  bonbons,  and  flirted, 

And  laugh'd  when  I  made  a  vile  pun  ; 
And  when  all  my  wit  I  exerted, 

She  said  I  was  "  capital  fun  ; " 
Till  the  ladies  the  table  deserted, 

And  she  was,  I  think,  the  last  one  ! 

How  dreadfully  hot !    I  am  tumbling 

And  tossing,  and  can't  get  to  sleep  ; 
And  over  the  streets  the  dull  rumbling 

Of  wheels  is  beginning  to  creep  : 
And  all  round  the  room  I  am  whirling 

The  women  and  lights,  and  I'm  dinn'd 
By  Kcenig,  who  plays  to  their  twirling 

The  Olga,  and  Bridal,  and  Lind, 
And  long  tresses,  no  longer  curling, 

Are  floating  about  in  the  wind. 


The  Belle  of  the  Ball. 


I  wish  I  could  marry — it's  shocking 

That  my  income  will  not  carry  two ; 
Oh  dear,  at  my  door  there's  a  knocking, 

And  I  have  not  slept  the  night  through  ! 
I  must  dress  then  as  well  as  I  can, 

And  trudge  to  that  horrid  Whitehall, 
The  Treasury  work  is  so  heavy, 

The  salary,  too,  is  so  small ; 
And  so  there's  an  end  to  romancing ; — 

Adieu  to  the  Belle  of  the  Ball ! 


243 


THE  COUNTRY  CLERGYMAN'S  TRIP  TO  CAMBRIDGE. 


LORD  MACAULAY. 


S  I  sate  down  to  breakfast  in  state, 

At  my  living  of  Tithiug-cum-Boring, 
With  Betty  beside  me  to  wait, 

Came  a  rap  that  almost  beat  the  door  in. 


The  Country  Gentleman  s  Trip  to  Cambridge. 


I  laid  down  my  basin  of  tea, 

And  Betty  ceased  spreading  the  toast, 
"  As  sure  as  a  gun,  sir,"  said  she, 

"  That  must  be  the  knock  of  the  post." 

A  letter — and  free — bring  it  here — 

I  liave  no  correspondent  who  franks. 
No  !    Yes  !    Can  it  be  ?    Why,  my  dear, 

'Tis  our  glorious,  our  Protestant  Bankes. 
"  Dear  sir,  as  I  know  you  desire 

That  the  Church  should  receive  due  protection, 
I  humbly  presume  to  require 

Your  aid  at  the  Cambridge  election. 

"  It  has  lately  been  brought  to  my  knowledge, 

That  the  Ministers  fully  design 
To  suppress  each  cathedral  and  college, 

And  eject  every  learned  divine. 
To  assist  this  detestable  scheme 

Three  nuncios  from  Rome  are  come  over ; 
They  left  Calais  on  Monday  by  steam, 

And  landed  to  dinner  at  Dover. 

"  An  army  of  grim  Cordeliers, 

Well  furnish'd  with  relics  and  vermin, 
Will  follow,  Lord  Westmoreland  fears, 

To  effect  what  their  chiefs  may  determine. 
Lollard's  bower,  good  authorities  say, 

Is  again  fitted  up  for  a  prison  ; 
And  a  wood-merchant  told  me  to-day 

'Tis  a  wonder  how  faggots  have  risen. 

"  The  finance  scheme  of  Canning  contains 

A  new  Easter-offering  tax  ; 
And  he  means  to  devote  all  the  gains 

To  a  bounty  on  thumb-screws  and  racks. 
Your  living,  so  neat  and  compact — 

Pray,  don't  let  the  news  give  you  pain  ! — 


The  Country  Gentleman's  Trip  to  Cambridge. 


Is  promised,  I  know  for  a  fact, 

To  an  olive-faced  Padre  from  Spain." 

I  read,  and  I  felt  my  heart  bleed, 

Sore  wounded  with  horror  and  pity ; 
So  I  flew,  with  all  possible  speed, 

To  our  Protestant  champion's  committee. 
True  gentlemen,  kind  and  well-bred  ! 

No  fleering  !  no  distance  !  no  scorn  ! 
They  ask  after  my  wife  who  is  dead, 

And  my  children  who  never  were  born. 

They  then,  like  high-principled  Tories, 

Call'd  our  Sovereign  unjust  and  unsteady, 
And  assail'd  him  with  scandalous  stories, 

Till  the  coach  for  the  voters  was  ready. 
That  coach  might  be  well  call'd  a  casket 

Of  learning  and  brotherly  love  : 
There  were  parsons  in  boot  and  in  basket ; 

There  were  parsons  below  and  above. 

There  were  Sneaker  and  Griper,  a  pair 

Who  stick  to  Lord  Mulesby  like  leeches ; 
A  smug  chaplain  of  plausible  air, 

Who  writes  my  Lord  Goslingham's  speeches. 
Dr.  Buzz,  who  alone  is  a  host, 

Who,  with  arguments  weighty  as  lead, 
Proves  six  times  a  week  in  the  Post 

That  flesh  somehow  differs  from  bread. 

Dr.  Nimrod,  whose  orthodox  toes 

Are  seldom  withdrawn  from  the  stirrup  ; 
Dr.  Humdrum,  whose  eloquence  flows, 

Like  droppings  of  sweet  poppy  syrup  ; 
Dr.  Rosygill  puffing  and  fanning, 

And  wiping  away  perspiration  ; 
Dr.  Humbug,  who  proved  Mr.  Canning 

The  beast  in  St.  John's  Revelation. 

246 


The  Country  Gentleman  s  Trip  to  Cambridge. 


A  layman  can  scarce  form  a  notion 

Of  our  wonderful  talk  on  the  road  ; 
Of  the  learning,  the  wit,  and  devotion, 

Which  almost  each  syllable  show'd  : 
Why  divided  allegiance  agrees 

So  ill  with  our  free  constitution ; 
How  Catholics  swear  as  they  please, 

In  hope  of  the  priest's  absolution  ; 

How  the  Bishop  of  Norwich  had  barter'd 

His  faith  for  a  legate's  commission  ; 
How  Lyndhurst,  afraid  to  be  martyr'd, 

Had  stoop'd  to  a  base  coalition  ; 
How  Papists  are  cased  from  compassion 

By  bigotry,  stronger  than  steel ; 
How  burning  would  soon  come  in  fashion, 

And  how  very  bad  it  must  feel. 

We  were  all  so  much  touch'd  and  excited 

By  a  subject  so  direly  sublime, 
That  the  rules  of  politeness  were  slighted, 

And  we  all  of  us  talk'd  at  a  time ; 
And  in  tones,  which  each  moment  grew  louder, 

Told  how  we  should  dress  for  the  show, 
And  where  we  should  fasten  the  powder, 

And  if  we  should  bellow  or  no. 

Thus  from  subject  to  subject  we  ran, 

And  the  journey  pass'd  pleasantly  o'er, 
Till  at  last  Dr.  Humdrum  began  ; 

From  that  time  I  remember  no  more. 
At  Ware  he  commenced  his  prelection, 

In  the  dullest  of  clerical  drones  ; 
And  when  next  I  regain'd  recollection 

We  were  rumbling  o'er  Trumpington  stones. 


247 


•ft 


SIR  WILKINS  ET  SA  DINAH. 

ADAPTED  FOR  A  FRENCH  AUDIENCE  BY  L.  W.  DESANGES,  ESQUIRE. 


E  Londres  un  negociant  habitait  la  ville, 
II  n'eut  qu'un  seul  enfant,  belle  douce  et  bonne  fille, 
Elle  s'appelait  Dinah,  et  n'eut  que  seize  ans, 
Et  une  fortune  superbe  en  or  et  en  argent, 

Chantant  tural  lul  lural  lul  lural  lala. 


Un  matin  se  promenait  cette  demoiselle, 

Son  papa  vient  vers  elle,  et  lui  dit :  "  O  ma  belle, 

248 


. 
Sir  Wilkins  et  sa  Dinah. 


Endimanches  toi,  Dinah,  sois  geutille  aussi, 
Et  je  t'amenerai  un  fort  joli  petit  mari, 

Chantant  tural  lul  lural,  &c." 

Choeur  des  parents  indulgents : — Tural  lul  lural,  <fcc. 

(Parle.)     Voila  ce  que  repond  mademoiselle  avec  modestie  accom- 
pagnee  de  grace  infinie  : — 

"  O  Papa,"  repond  Dinah,  "  je  n'ai  nulle  envie 
De  te  quitter  si  tot  pour  ce  petit  mari, 
Et  toute  ma  belle  fortune  je  te  donne,  mon  Papa, 
Pour  deux  ou  trois  annees  de  doux  celibat, 
Chantant  tural,  tkc." 

Choeur  des  jeunes  innocentes  qui  out  le  manage  en  horreur  : — 
Tural  lul  lural,  <fcc. 

(Parle.)     Reiuarquez  le  courroux  du  papa  courrouce. 

"  Va  t'en,  fille  impudique,"  papa  fait  reponse, 
"  Si  an  projet  de  ce  mariage  tu  y  renonce, 
A  ton  cousin  le  plus  proche  je  donnerai  tons  tes  bieus, 
Et  toi,  ma  belle  Dinah,  tu  n'en  auras  plus  rien 
Qu'a  chanter  tural  lul  lural,  <fcc." 

Choeur  des  parents  indignes : — Tural  hll  lural,  tfcc. 

TOME  SECOND. 
Sir  WilTcins. 

(Parle.)      Sir  Wilkins  est  un  jeune   Lord   Maire,  titre   Anglais 
hereditaire. 

Sir  Wilkins  se  promenait  du  jardin  au  fond, 
Que  voit-il ! ! !    Sa  Dinah  morte  sur  le  gazon, 
Pres  d'elle  git  une  coupe  de  poison  tout  froid, 
Et  une  lettre  qui  dit  qu'elle  est  morte  pour  A'ilikins,  je  crois, 
Chantaut  tural  lul  lural,  &c. 

249  K  K 


Sir  Wilkins  et  sa  Dinah. 


Chceur  cle  demoiselles  raortes  pour  1'amour — chceur  en  grand  silence: — 
Tural  lul  lural,  <fcc. 

(Partt.)     Voili  ce  que  fait  1'amant  malheureux. 

De  mille  baisers  il  couvre  le  cadavre  cheri, 
"  Attens,"  dit-il,  "  Dinah,  ton  petit  mari." 
II  boit  le  poison,  son  ame  part  au  galop, 
Et  Vilikins  et  Dinah  n'occupent  qu'un  tombeau. 

Tous  les  deux  chantant  en  choeur  un  choeur  en  chantant, 
Tural  lul  lural,  &c. 

MORALE. 

Mesdemoiselles  soyez  averties  avant 
Que  de  desobeir  a  papa  ou  a  maman, 
Et  jeunes  gens,  soyez  prudents  de  vos  doux  regards, 
Et — et — et,  ma  foi !  et  n'arrivez  pas 
Au  rendezvous,  comme  Vilikins,  trop  tard. 

Autrement  vous  pourrez  etre  condamnes  a  chanter  a  perpetuite  cette 
changon  lugubre  (c'est  leste),  mais  ga  n'a  pas  de  rapport  du  tout  avec  les 
changons  celestes  des  anges : 

Tural  lu  lural  lul  lural  lala. 


250 


THE  WONDEKFUL  ONE-HOSS-SHAY. 


OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


*AVE  you  heard  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss-sha  y 
That  was  built  in  such  a  logical  way 
It  ran  a  hundred  years  to  a  day, 
And  then,  of  a  sudden,  it ah,  but  stay, 

I'll  tell  you  what  happen'd  without  delay, 

Scaring  the  parson  into  fits, 

Frightening  people  out  of  their  wits, — 

Have  you  ever  heard  of  that,  I  say  ? 


Seventeen  hundred  and  fifty-five. 
Georgius  Secundus  was  then  alive, — 
Snuffy  old  drone  from  the  German  hive  ! 
That  was  the  year  when  Lisbon-town 
Saw  the  earth  open  and  gulp  her  down. 


The  Wonderful  One-Hoss-Shay. 


And  Bradclock's  army  was  done  so  brown, 

Left  without  a  scalp  to  its  crown. 

It  was  on  the  terrible  Earthquake  day 

That  the  Deacon  finish'd  the  one-hoss-shay. 

Now  in  building  of  chaises,  I  tell  you  what, 

There  is  always  someivhere  a  weakest  spot, — 

In  hub,  tire,  felloe,  in  spring  or  thill, 

In  panel,  or  cross-bar,  or  floor,  or  sill, 

In  screw,  bolt,  thoroughbrace, — lurking  still, 

Find  it  somewhere  you  must  and  will,— 

Above  or  below,  or  within  or  without, — 

And  that's  the  reason,  beyond  a  doubt, 

A  chaise  breaks  down,  but  doesn't  ivear  out. 

But  the  Deacon  swore  (as  deacons  do, 

With  an  "  I  dew  vum,"  or  an  "  I  tell  yeou,") 

He  would  build  one  shay  to  beat  the  taown 

'n'  the  keounty  'n'  all  the  kentry  raoun' ; 

It  should  be  so  built  that  it  couhln'  break  daown : 

— "  Fur,"  said  the  Deacon,  "  't's  mighty  plain 

That  the  weakes'  place  mus'  stan'  the  strain ; 

'n'  the  way  t'  fix  it,  uz  I  maintain, 

Is  only  jest 
To  make  that  place  uz  strong  uz  the  rest." 

So  the  Deacon  inquired  of  the  village  folk 

Where  he  could  find  the  strongest  oak, 

That  couldn't  be  split,  nor  bent,  nor  broke, — 

That  was  for  spokes  and  floor  and  sills  ; 

He  sent  for  lancewood  to  make  the  thills ; x 

The  crossbars  were  ash,  from  the  straightest  trees 

The  panels  of  white-wood,  that  cuts  like  cheese, 

But  lasts  like  iron  for  things  like  these  ; 

The  hubs  of  logs  from  the  "  Settler's  ellum," — 

Last  of  its  timber, — they  couldn't  sell  'em, — 

1  Shafts. 
252 


The  Wonderful  One-Hoss-Shay. 


Never  an  axe  had  seen  their  chips, 

And  the  wedges  flew  from  between  their  lips, 

Their  blunt  ends  frizzled  like  celery-tips  ; 

Step  and  prop-iron,  bolt  and  screw, 

Spring,  tire,  axle,  and  linchpin  too, 

Steel  of  the  finest,  bright  and  blue ; 

Thoroughbrace  bison-skin,  thick  and  wide  ; 

Boot,  top,  dasher,  from  tough  old  hide 

Found  in  the  pit  when  the  tanner  died. 

That  was  the  way  he  "  put  her  through." — 

"  There  !"  said  the  Deacon,  "  naow  she'll  dew  !" 

Do !  I  tell  you,  I  rather  guess 

She  was  a  wonder,  and  nothing  less  ! 

Colts  grew  horses,  beards  turn'd  gray, 

Deacon  and  deaconness  dropp'd  away, 

Children  and  grand-children — where  were  they? 

But  there  stood  the  stout  old  one-hoss-shay 

As  fresh  as  on  Lisbon-earthquake-day  ! 

EIGHTEEN  HUNDBED  ; — it  came  and  found 
The  Deacon's  masterpiece  strong  and  sound. 
Eighteen  hundred  increased  by  ten  ; — 
"  Hahnsum  kerridge"  they  call'd  it  then. 
Eighteen  hundred  and  twenty  came  ; — 
Running  as  usual ;  much  the  same. 
Thirty  and  forty  at  last  arrive, 
And  then  came  fifty,  and  FIFTY-FIVE. 

Little  of  all  we  value  here 
Wakes  on  the  morn  of  its  hundredth  year 
Without  both  feeling  and  looking  queer. 
In  fact,  there's  nothing  that  keeps  its  youth, 
So  far  as  I  know,  but  a  tree  and  truth. 
(This  is  a  moral  that  runs  at  large  ; 
Take  it. — You're  welcome. — No  extra  charge.) 
358 


The  Wonderful  One-Hoss-Shay. 


FIRST  OP  NOVEMBER, — the  Earthquake-day. — 
There  are  traces  of  age  in  the  one-hoss-shay, 
A  general  flavour  of  mild  decay, 
But  nothing  local,  as  one  may  say. 
There  couldn't  be, — for  the  Deacon's  art 
Had  made  it  so  like  in  every  part 
That  there  wasn't  a  chance  for  one  to  start. 
For  the  wheels  were  just  as  strong  as  the  thills, 
And  the  floor  was  just  as  strong  as  the  sills, 
And  the  panels  just  as  strong  as  the  floor, 
And  the  whippletree2  neither  less  nor  more, 
And  the  back-crossbar  as  strong  as  the  fore, 
And  spring,  and  axle,  and  hub3  encore. 
And  yet,  as  a  whole,  it  is  past  a  doubt 
In  another  hour  it  will  be  worn  out ! 

First  of  November,  'fifty-five  ; 

This  morning  the  parson  takes  a  drive. 

Now,  small  boys,  get  out  of  the  way  ! 

Here  comes  the  wonderful  one-hoss-shay, 

Drawn  by  a  rat-tail'd,  ewe-neck'd  bay. 

"  Huddup  !"  said  the  parson. — Off  went  they. 

f  The  parson  was  working  his  Sunday's  text,  — 
Had  got  to  fifthly,  and  stopp'd  perplex'd 
At  what  the — Moses — was  coming  next. 
All  at  once  the  horse  stood  still, 
Close  by  the  meet'n'-house  on  the  hill. 
— First  a  shiver,  and  then  a  thrill, 
Then  something  decidedly  like  a  spill, — 
And  the  parson  was  sitting  upon  a  rock, 
At  half-past  nine  by  the  meet'n'-house  clock, — 
Just  the  hour  of  the  earthquake-shock  ! 
— What  do  you  think  the  parson  found, 
When  he  got  up  and  stared  around  ? 

2  Splinter-bar.  3  Xave. 

254 


The  Wonderful  One- Hoss- Shay. 


The  poor  old  chaise  in  a  heap  or  mound, 
As  if  it  had  been  to  the  mill  and  ground  ! 
You  see,  of  course,  if  you're  not  a  dunce, 
How  it  went  to  pieces  all  at  once, — 
All  at  once,  and  nothing  first, — 
Just  as  bubbles  do  when  they  burst. 

End  of  the  wonderful  one-hoss-shay. 
Logic  is  logic.     That's  all  I  say. 


255 


THE  BALLAD  OF  ELIZA  DAVIS. 


\V.  M.  THACKERAY. 


ALLIANT  gents  and  lovely  ladies, 

List  a  tail  vich  late  befel, 
Vich  I  heard  it,  bein  on  duty, 

At  the  Pleace  Hoffice,  Clerkenwell. 


Praps  you  know  the  Fondling  Chapel, 
Vere  the  little  children  sings : 

(Lor  !  I  likes  to  hear  on  Sundies 
Them  there  pooty  little  things  !) 

In  this  street  there  lived  a  housemaid, 
If  you  particklarly  ask  me  where — 

Vy,  it  vas  at  four  and  tventy, 

Guilford  Street,  by  Brunsvick  Square. 

Vich  her  name  was  Eliza  Davis, 
And  she  went  to  fetch  the  beer  :. 

In  the  street  she  met  a  party 

As  was  quite  surprised  to  see  her. 

Vich  he  vas  a  British  Sailor, 
For  to  judge  him  by  his  look  : 

Tarry  jacket,  canvass  trowsies, 
Ha-la  Mr.  T.  P.  Cooke. 

256 


'The  Ballad  of  Eliza  Davis. 


Presently  this  Mann  accostes 
Of  this  h innocent  young  gal- 

257 


The  Ballad  of  Eliza  Davis. 


••  Pray,"  say  sec,  "  Excuse  my  freedom. 
You're  so  like  my  Sister  Sal ! 

->  You're  so  like  my  Sister  Sally, 
Both  in  valk  and  face  and  size ; 

Miss,  that — dang  my  old  lee  scuppers, 
It  brings  tears  into  my  heyes  ! 

"  I'm  a  mate  on  board  a  wessel, 

I'm  a  sailor  bold  and  true  ; 
Shiver  up  my  poor  old  timbers, 

Let  me  be  a  mate  for  you  ! 

"  What's  your  name,  my  beauty,  tell  me?" 
And  she  faintly  hansers,  "  Lore, 

Sir,  my  name's  Eliza  Davis, 
And  I  live  at  tventy-four." 

Hofttinies  came  this  British  seaman, 

This  deluded  gal  to  meet : 
And  at  tyenty-four  was  welcome, 

Tventy-four  in  Guilford  Street. 

And  Eliza  told  her  Master. 

(Kinder  they  than  Missuses  are), 
How  in  marridge  he  had  ast  her, 

Like  a  galliant  British  Tar. 

And  he  brought  his  landlady  vith  him, 

(Vich  vas  all  his  artful  plan), 
And  she  told  how  Charley  Thompson 

Keely  vas  a  good  young  man. 

And  how  she  herself  had  lived  in 

Many  years  of  union  sweet, 
Yith  a  gent  she  met  promiskous, 

Yalkin  in  the  public  street. 


The  Ballad  of  Eliza  Davis, 


And  Eliza  listen'd  to  them, 

And  she  thought  that  soon  their  bands 
Vould  he  publish'd  at  the  Fondlin, 

Hand  the  clergyman  jine  their  amis. 

And  he  ?st  about  the  lodgers, 

(Yich  her  master  let  some  rooms.) 

Likevise  vere  they  kep  their  things,  and 
Yere  her  master  kep  his  spoons. 

Hand  this  vicked  Charley  Thompson 
Came  on  Sundy  veek  to  see  her, 

And  he  sent  Eliza  Davis 

Hout  to  fetch  a  pint  of  birr. 

Hand  while  pore  Eliza  vent  to 
Fetch  the  beer,  dewoid  of  sin, 

This  etrocious  Charley  Thompson 
Let  his  \vi!e  accomplish  hin. 

To  the  lodgers,  their  apartm-onis, 
This  abandingd  female  goes, 

Prigs  their  shirts  and  uniberellaa  : 

Prigs  their  boots,  and  hats,  and  clo'iluv 

Vile  the  scoundrle  Charley  Thompson, 
Lest  his  wictim  should  escape, 

Hocust  her  vith  rum  and  vater, 
Like  a  fiend  in  limning  shape. 

]>ut  a  hi  was  Hxt  upon  Ym 

Yich  the  raskles  little  sore  ; 
Namely,  Mr.  Hide,  the  landlord 

Of  the  house  at  tvcnty-fcur. 

He  vas  valkin  in  his  garden, 
Just  afore  he  vent  to  sup  ; 

259 


The  Ballad  of  Eliza  Davis. 


And  on  looking  up  he  sor  the 
Lodger's  vinders  lighted  hup. 

Hup  the  stairs  the  landlord  tumbled  : 
Something's  going  wrong,  he  said  ; 

And  he  caught  the  vicked  voman 
Underneath  the  lodger's  bed. 

And  he  call'd  a  brother  Pleaseman, 
Vich  vas  passing  on  his  beat, 

Like  a  true  and  galliant  feller, 
Hup  and  down  in  Guilford  Street. 

And  that  Pleaseman,  able-bodied, 
Took  this  voman  to  the  cell ; 

To  the  cell  vere  she  was  quodded, 
In  the  Close  of  Clerkenwell. 

And  though  vicked  Charley  Thompson 
Boulted,  like  a  miscrant  base, 

Presently  another  Pleaseman 

Took  him  to  the  self-same  place. 

And  this  precious  pair  of  raskles 
Tuesday  last  came  up  for  doom  ; 

By  the  beak  they  was  committed, 
Vich  his  name  was  Mr.  Combe. 

Has  for  poor  Eliza  Davis, 
Simple  gurl  of  treaty-four, 

She,  I  ope,  vill  never  listen 
In  the  streets  to  sailors  moar. 

But  if  she  must  ave  a  sweet-art, 
(Vich  most  every  gurl  expex,) 

Let  her  take  a  jolly  pleaseman  ; 
Vich  is  name  peraps  is — X. 

260 


THE  BEAUTY  AND  THE  BEE. 


CHARLES  MACKAY. 


ANNY,  array'd  in  the  bloom  of  her  beauty, 

Stood  at  the  mirror  and  toy'd  with  her  hair. 
Viewing  her  charms,  till  she  felt  it  a  duty 

To  own  that  like  Fanny  no  woman  was  fair. 
A  Bee  from  the  garden — oh,  what  could  mislead  him  ? — 

Stray'd  through  the  lattice  new  dainties  to  seek, 
And  lighting  on  Fanny,  too  busy  to  heed  him, 
Stung  the  sweet  maid  on  her  delicate  cheek. 

Smarting  with  pain,  round  the  chamber  she  sought  him. 
Tears  in  her  eyes,  and  revenge  in  her  heart, 

261 


The  Beauty  and  the  Bee. 


And  angrily  cried,  when  at  last  she  had  caught  him, 
"  Die  for  the  deed,  little  wretch  that  thou  art!" 

Stooping  to  crush  him,  the  hapless  offender 
Pray'd  her  for  mercy, — to  hear  and  forgive : 

"  Oh,  spare  me  !"  he  cried,  "  by  those  eyes  in  their  splendour 
Oh,  pity  my  fault,  and  allow  me  to  live  ! 

"  Am  I  to  blame  that  your  cheeks  are  like  roses, 

Whose  hues  all  the  pride  of  the  garden  eclipse  ? 
Lilies  are  hid  in  your  mouth  when  it  closes,  % 

And  odours  of  Araby  breathe  from  your  lips." 
Sweet  Fanny  relented  :   "  'Twere  cruel  to  hurt  you  ; 

Small  is  the  fault,  pretty  bee,  you  deplore  ; 
And  e'en  were  it  greater,  forgiveness  is  virtue  ; 

Go  forth  and  be  happy — I  blame  you  no  more." 


o 


THE  ANNUITY. 


GEOBGK  OTTRAM. 


GAED  to  spend  a  week  in  Fife- — 
An  unco  week  it  proved  to  be — 
For  there  I  met  a  waesome  wife 

Lamenti  n'  her  viduity. 
Her  grief  brak  out  sae  fierce  and  fell, 
I  thought  her  heart  wad  burst  the  shell 
And, — I  was  sae  left  to  mysel',-— 
I  sell't  her  an  annuity. 

263 


The  Annuity. 


The  bargain  lookit  fair  enough — 
She  just  was  turn'd  o'  saxty-three — 

I  couklna  guess'd  she'd  prove  sae  teugh,1 
By  human  ingenuity. 

But  years  have  come,  and  years  have  gane, 

And  there  she's  yet  as  stieve's2  a  stane  — 

The  limtner's  growin'  young  again, 
Since  she  got  her  annuity. 

She's  crined3  awa'  to  bane  an'  skin. 

But  that  it  seems  is  nought  to  me. 
She's  like  to  live — although  she's  in 

The  last  stage  o'  tenuity. 
She  munches  wi'  her  wizen'd  gums, 
An'  stumps  about  on  legs  o'  thrums,* 
But  comes — as  sure  as  Christmas  comes — 

To  ca'  for  her  annuity. 

I  read  the  tables  drawn  wi'  care 

For  an  Insurance  Company  ; 
Her  chance  o'  life  was  stated  there, 

Wi'  perfect  perspicuity. 
But  tables  here  or  tables  there, 
She's  lived  ten  years  beyond  her  share, 
An's  like  to  live  a  dozen  mair, 

To  ca'  for  her  annuity. 

Last  Yule  she  had  a  fearfu'  hoast5 — 
I  thought  a  kink6  might  set  me  free — 

I  led  her  out,  'rnang  snaw  and  frost, 
Wi'  constant  assiduity. 

But  Diel  ma'  care — the  blast  gaed  by, 

And  miss'd  the  auld  anatomy — 

It  just  cost  me  a  tooth,  forbye7 
Discharging  her  annuity. 

1   Tough.  2  Firm.  3  Shrunk.  4  Threads. 

"  Cough.  6  Paroxysm.          7  Besides. 

9M 


The  Annuity. 


If  there's  a  soughB  o'  cholera 

Or  typhus — \vha  sae  gleg9  as  she  ! 

She  buys  up  baths,  au'  drugs,  an  a', 
In  siccan  superfluity ! 

She  doesua  need — she's  fever  proof — 

The  pest  walk'd  o'er  her  very  roof — 

She  tauld  me  sae — an'  then  her  loof 10 
Held  out  for  her  annuity. 

Ae  day  she  fell — her  arm  she  brak — 
A  compound  fracture  as  could  be — 

Nae  Leech  the  cure  wad  undertak, 
Whate'er  was  the  gratuity. 

It's  cured  ! — She  handles't  like  a  flail — 

It  does  as  weel  in  bits  as  hale — 

But  I'm  a  broken  man  mysel' 
Wi'  her  and  her  annuity. 

Her  broozled11  flesh  and  broken  banes, 
Are  weel  as  flesh  an'  banes  can  be. 

She  beats  the  taeds12  that  live  in  stanes, 
An'  fatten  in  vacuity  ! 

They  die  when  they're  exposed  to  air — 

They  canna  thole13  the  atmosphere — 

But  her  ! — expose  her  onywhere — 
She  lives  for  her  annuity. 

If  mortal  means  could  nick  her  thread, 

Sma'  crime  it  wad  appear  to  me- — 
Ca't  murder — or  ca't  homicide — 

I'd  justify't — au'  do  it  tae. 
But  how  to  fell  a  wither'd  wife 
That's  carved  out  o'  the  tree  o'  life — 
The  timmer  limmer  daurs14  the  knife 

To  settle  her  annuity. 

8  Whisper.  9  Sharp.  "'  Hand.  "  Bruised.  '*  Toads. 

la  Endure.  u  The  wooden  hussy  dares. 

265  51  M 


The  Annuity. 


I'd  try  a  shot. — But  whar's  the  mark  ? — 

Her  vital  parts  are  hid  frae  me. 
Her  back-bane  wanders  through  her  sark 

In  an  unkenn'd  corkscrewity. 
She's  palsified — an'  shakes  her  head 
Sae  fast  about,  ye  scarce  can  see't — 
It's  past  the  power  o'  steel  or  lead 
To  settle  her  annuity. 

She  might  be  drown'd  ; — but  go  she'll  not 
Within  a  mile  o'  loch  or  sea  ; — 

Or  hanged — if  cord  could  grip  a  throat 
O'  siccan  exiguity. 

It's  fitter  far  to  hang  the  rope — 

It  draws  out  like  a  telescope — 

'Twad  tak  a  dreadfu'  length  o'  drop 
To  settle  her  annuity. 

Will  puzion15  do't? — It  has  been  tried. 

But,  be't  in  hash  or  fricassee, 
That's  just  the  dish  she  can't  abide, 

Whatever  kind  o'  gout  it  hae. 
It's  needless  to  assail  her  doubts — 
She  gangs  by  instinct, — like  the  brutes, — 
An'  only  eats  an'  drinks  what  suits 

Hersel'  and  her  annuity. 

The  Bible  says  the  age  o'  man 

Threescore  and  ten  perchance  may  be. 
She's  ninety-four. — Let  them  wha  can 

Explain  the  incongruity. 
She  should  hae  lived  afore  the  flood — 
She's  come  o'  Patriarchal  blood — 
She's  some  auld  Pagan  mummified 
Alive  for  her  annuity. 

15  Poison. 


The  Annuity. 


She's  been  cmbalm'd  inside  and  out — 

She's  sauted  to  the  last  degree — 
There's  pickle  in  her  very  snout 

Sae  caper-like  an'  cruety, 
Lot's  wife  was  fresh  compared  to  her — 
They've  Kyanized  the  useless  knir l6 — 
She  canna  decompose — nae  mair 
Than  her  accursed  annuity. 

The  water-drap  wears  out  the  rock 

As  this  eternal  jaud  wears  me. 
I  could  withstand  the  single  shock, 

But  not  the  continuity. 
It's  pay  me  here — an'  pay  me  there — 
An'  pay  me,  pay  me,  evermair — 
I'll  gang  demented  wi'  despair — 
I'm  charged  for  her  annuity. 

16  Witch. 


267 


ASK  AND  HAVE. 


SAMUEL  LOVER. 


H,  'tis  time  I  should  talk  to  your  mother, 

Sweet  Mary,"  says  I ; 
"  Oh,  don't  talk  to  my  mother,"  says  Mary, 

Beginning  to  cry : 
"  For  my  mother  says  men  are  deceivers, 

And  never,  I  know,  will  consent ; 
She  says  girls  in  a  hurry  who  marry, 
At  leisure  repent." 

"  Then,  suppose  I  would  talk  to  your  father, 

Sweet  Mary,"  says  I ; 
"  Oh,  don't  talk  to  my  father,"  says  Mary, 

Beginning  to  cry : 

268 


Ask  and  Have. 


"  For  my  father,  he  loves  me  so  dearly, 
He'll  never  consent  I  should  go — 

If  you  talk  to  my  father,"  gays  Mary, 
"  He'll  surely  say  '  ]So.' " 

"  Then  how  shall  I  get  you,  my  jewel  ? 

Sweet  Mary,"  says  I ; 
"  If  your  father  and  mother's  so  cruel, 

Most  surely  I'll  die!" 
"  Oh,  never  say  die,  dear,"  says  Mary ; 

"  A  way  now  to  save  you  I  see  : 
Since  my  parents  are  both  so  contrary — 

You'd  better  ask  me." 


269 


A  LYRIC  FOR  LOVERS. 


W.  H.  AVILLS. 


OVE  launch'd  a  gallant  little  craft, 

Complete  with  every  rope  ; 
In  golden  words  was  painted  aft, 
"  The  Cupid,  Captain  Hope." 
Pleasure  was  rated  second  mate, 

And  Passion  made  to  steer  ; 
The  guns  were  handed  o'er  to  Fate, 
To  Impulse  sailing  gear. 

270 


A  Lyric  for  Lovers. 


Merrily  roved  the  thoughtless  crew 

Amid  the  billows'  strife  ; 
But  soon  a  sail  bore  down  :  all  knew 

'Twas  Captain  Reason's  "  Life." 
And  Pleasure  left,  though  Passion  said 

He'd  guard  her  safe  from  all  harms : 
'Twas  vain ;  for  Fate  ramm'd  home  the  lead, 

While  Love  prepared  the  small  arms. 

A  storm  arose.     The  canvass  now 

Escaped  from  Impulse'  hand, 
While  headstrong  Passion  dash'd  the  prow 

Swift  on  a  rocky  strand. 
"  All's  lost !"  each  trembling  sailor  cried  ; 

"  Bid  Captain  Hope  adieu  !" 
But,  in  his  life-boat,  Reason  hied 

To  save  the  silly  crew. 

Impulse  the  torrents  overwhelm, 

But  Pleasure  'scaped  from  wreck  ; 
Love,  making  Reason  take  the  helm, 

Chain'd  Passion  to  the  deck. 
"  I  thought  you  were  my  foe  ;  but  now," 

Said  Love,  "  we'll  sail  together ; 
Reason,  henceforth  through  life  shalt  thou 

My  pilot  be  for  ever ! " 


271 


ODE  TO  BIG  BEN. 


w.  H.  WILLS.     (FROM  "  PUNCH.") 


BEN! 


Ten 


Times  more  deafening  than  old  Tom  of  Lincoln 
Prodigious  cone — 
Big  monotone — 

Huge  Upper  Benjamin !    When  I  think  on 
How  thy  E  natural — sonorous  tonic, 
Booming  distinctly  out,  each  clear  harmonic, 
Will  wrap  in  sound  all  London,  and,  three  million  ears 
Strike  with  one  common  chord, — it,  in  good  sooth,  appears 
To  me,  O  loud  pedometer  for  the  Grim  Old  Runner, 
That  you  are  a  stunner. 

Monstrous  memento ! 

Has  thy  tongue  been  sent  to 
Memorialise  "  my  Lords"  from  your  tall  steeple — 

To  tell  the  borers, 

And  tired-out  snorers, 
Who  dream,  forsooth,  they  represent  the  people, 

272 


Ode  to  Big  Ben. 


That  Time,  winch  they  so  waste  in  clubs  and  "  pairs," 
Is,  in  reality,  the  Public's,  and  not  theirs? 
Wilt  thou,  O  giant  Captain  Cuttle  ! 
When  hourly  "  making  a  note  on't,"  rouse  the  subtle 
Barnacles  to  a  sense  of  "  how  to  do  it  ?" 
Or,  if  you  can't,  to  a  dread  of  how  they'll  rue  it  ? 

Tremendous  Larum  !    If,  at  each  great  stroke 

Of  your  enormous  hammer, 

Your  trembling  clamour 
Purges  the  air  of  all  the  lies  and  smoke 
That  seethe  and  vibrate  at  thy  base, 

(And  which  for  very  shame 

Will  make  thy  clock,  good  dame, 
For  ever  hold  her  hands  before  her  face), 
Then,  O  immense  Percussion  Cap !    I  need 
Not  say  you'll  prove  a  public  benefit,  indeed. 


27:! 


A  SEASONABLE  STORY. 


MARK  LEMON. 

HERE  is  the  man  at  twenty-eight 
That  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
Whilst  tumbling  in  his  lonely  bed, 
"  All  marriages  are  made  by  fate  !" 
At  least  with  me  the  saw  holds  good, 
Fate  doom'd  me  unto  bach'lorhood, 
For  Bella  Brown  is  Mrs.  More  ! 
There  never  was  a  tidier  body — 
She  should  have  borne  the  name  I  bore, 


A  Seasonable  Story. 


Mix'd  every  mixture  that  I  swallow'd, 
Wliether  'twas  gruel  or  gin -toddy, 
For  me  perform'd  all  household  duties, 
Nursed  each  sweet  babe  my  home  that  hallow'd. 
And  Mrs.  More  has  four  such  beauties  ! 

Bella  as  Bailey's  "  Eve"  was  fair, 
Save  that  her  face  was  slightly  freckled ; 
And,  for  her  sake,  with  tenderest  care, 
I  keep  a  bantam-hen  that's  speckled. 
She  had  a  dimple  on  her  chin, 
Where  you  must  long  to  lay  your  linger  ; 
Her  pouting  rosy  lips  would  win 
A  true  St.  Anthony  to  linger. 
Her  voice  !    O  could  you  hear  her  sing, 
You'd  think  within  her  pretty  throat 
A  nightingale  had  closed  its  wing, 
And  lent  her  every  thrilling  note ! 
Her  nose  was  slightly  pugg'd,  her  eyes 
Were  like  twin  stars  of  equal  size  ; 
But  why  recount  her  beauties  o'er, 
She's  not  my  wife — she's  Mrs.  More  ! 

'Twas  "  on  a  raw  and  gusty  day" 
I  placed  myself  and  trunk  in  charge 
Of  Margate's  Nelson,  Captain  Large  , 
Just  as  the  boat  got  under  weigh 
Bella  (she  was  my  Bella  then  !) 
Bella  was  there,  (ah,  weep,  my  pen, 
Thine  inkiest  tears  !)  for  Margate  bound, 
"  To  get  a  blow,"  her  mother  said  ; 
But  I — I  got  the  blow  instead, 
As  in  the  sequel  'twill  be  found. 

The  Pool  was  past,  Gravesend,  the  Nore, 
The  sea  was  frothing  up  like  yeast, 

275 


A  Seasonable  Story. 


The  wind  was  blowing  Nor.-Xor.-East  ; 

I  never  felt  so  queer  before. 

My  sight  each  moment  grew  more  dim, 

My  head  began  around  to  swim, 

My  legs  went  any  way  they  pleased, 

As  though  the  steamer's  deck  were  greased  ; 

I  strove  to  cry  aloud,  but  no, 

The  words  stuck  in  my  throat,  and  so 

I  threw  me  madly  on  my  trunk, 

Like  one  (I  blush  to  write  it)  drunk. 

I  knew  not  then — I  know  not  now, 
How  long  I  lay  in  that  distress, 
Which  mocks  all  other  forms  of  woe  ; 
Which  even  love  cannot  make  less — 
Its  memory  even  now  doth  harrow ; 
But,  when  I  woke  to  consciousness, 
Myself  and  trunk  were  in  a  barrow, 
Bump,  bumping  over  Margate  Jetty, 
The  while  the  rain  in  torrents  fell. 
At  length  I  reach'd  the  Pier  Hotel — 
O,  very  cold  and  very  wetty. 

"  This  way,  sir,  if  you  please." — 

I  went, 

Following  my  trunk,  the  boots,  and  maid. 
"  Send  me  some  brandy/' — 

It  was  sent ; 

And,  when  I  drank  the  aforesaid, 
I  drew  a  key  from  out  my  pocket, 
I  knelt  down  by  that  trunk  of  leather  : 
But  vainly  sought  I  to  unlock  it, — 
The  lock  was  damaged  by  the  weather. 
All  shiveringly  I  rang  the  bell  ; 
The  chamber-maid  came  in  a  minute. 
I  told  my  tale,  she  said,  "  O  well, 
Sir,  blow  the  key  ;  there's  something  in  it/' 


A  Seasonable  Story. 


I  blew — a  note  both  loud  and  shrill 
Replied  ! 

"  There,''  said  the  joker, 
"•As  you  can't  open  it,  I  will  ; 
I'll  pick  the  lock,  sir,  with  the  poker/' 

The  deed  was  done,  and  she  withdrew  ; 
I  doff  'd  my  saturated  clothes ; 
I  raised  the  lid, — what  met  my  view 
My  blushing  pen  shall  now  disclose  : — 

A  roomy  gown  of  bombazine 

Upon  the  top  was  laid, 

A  pair  of  boots  of  faded  green, 

Of  shape  call'd  Adelaide. 

"  What  have  they  done?"   I  cried  aloud  ; 

"  This  trunk  it  is  not  mine  : 

For  everything  within  it  stow'd, 

13y  Gemini !  is  feminine." 

"JVas  so — the  trunk  was  not  mine  own  ; 

0,  what  was  I  to  do  ? 

I  could  not  stand  there  cold  as  stone, 
Nor  go  to  bed,  could  you  ? 
There  was  no  choice,  but  Hobson's  choice,- 
Nothing  to  pause  between  ; 

1,  listening  to  compulsion's  voice, 
Put  on  the  bombazine. 

I  had  not  sat  scarce  half  an  hour, 
When  upstairs  came  the  maid  ; 
Happing  my  door  with  wondrous  power, 
Thus  screamingly  she  said : — 
"  Here  is  Miss  Brown  and  her  mam -mar, 
Which  wishes,  sir,  to  know 
If  you  will  go  to  Kan-nel-ar? 
Send  word,  sir,  Yes  or  No  ! "' 

277 


A  Seasonable  Story. 


Here  was  a  fix  !    I  was  not  fit 

By  Bella  to  be  seen. 

Go  down  ?    I  couldn't  think  of  it, 

Dress'd  out  in  bombazine  ; 

I  answer'd,  "  No!" 

*  *  *  * 

*  *  *  * 
That  fatal  word  I  still  deplore, 
It  stung  ray  Bella's  pride. 

That  night  she  met  with  Mr.  More  ; 

Next  week  she  was  his  bride. 

My  heart  is  breaking  !  soon  my  bed 

Will  be  in  churchyard  green  ; 

And,  should  my  ghost  walk,  cruel  maid, 

'Twill  walk  in  bombazine. 


CHISWJCK  PRESS: — PRINTK1)  BY  WHITTINGUAM  AND  WIJ.KINS, 
TOOKS  COURT.  CHANCERY  LANK. 


ADDITIONAL  NOTES. 

PAGE  1. 

HE  Miller  of  Trompington  is  so  much  of  the  Reeves'  contribution  to  Chaucer's 
"Canterbury  Tales"  as  can  be  ventured  in  a  modern  reprint;  but  presents, 
nevertheless,  a  complete  little  story.  The  line, 

"  His  name  was  hoten  Denious  Simekin,  (called  '  Disdainful  Simekin') 
gives  us  to  understand  that  the  Miller's  accomplishments,  mentioned  in  an 
earlier  passage,  made  their  owner  intolerant  of  his  less  gifted  neighbours,  and  leads  us  to 
the  origin  of  a  not  uncommon  surname,  much  in  favour  with  comic  writers  of  a  later  date. 
Simpkin  appears  to  be  a  slight  transmutation  of  Simekin,  or  sometimes  Simkin,  which  is  a 
diminutive  of  Simon. 

Soler  Hall  was  one  of  the  lodging-houses  of  Cambridge  University,  in  which  the  students 
lived  before  they  were  incorporated.  This  hall  had  an  open  gallery,  called  a  Soler,  where 
the  rays  of  Sol  could  be  enjoyed.  Some  of  the  halls  and  colleges  retain  the  names  then 
existing.  Oriel  College,  at  Oxford,  for  example,  replaces  a  large  messuage  called,  in 
Chaucer's  day,  L'Oriele,  or  the  Hall  with  the  Porch. 

PAGE  7. 

Poor  and  Sure.  A  quaint  version  of  "  The  City  and  the  Country  Mouse,"  frequently 
versified  by  the  writers  of  fables,  from  ^Esop  downwards. 

PAGE  10. 

The  Old  and  Young  Courtier.  The  authorship  of  this  admirable  comparison  of  the 
merry  and  bountiful  life  under  Elizabeth,  with  the  coarser  and  gloomier  manners  in  vogue 
under  the  Stuarts,  is  unknown.  The  text  is  that  of  Dr.  Percy,  who  collated  and  corrected 
a  black-letter  copy  of  the  song  in  the  Pepys'  collection,  by  means  of  another  copy  in  a 
miscellany  of  poems  and  songs,  published  in  1660,  called  "  Le  Prince  d' Amour." 

PAGE  14. 

The  Duke  and  the  Tinker  is  one  of  the  "  Ballads  that  Illustrate  Shakespeare "  in  Dr. 
Percy's  "  Relics,"  originally  derived  from  the  Pepys'  collection.  The  story  on  which  both  it, 
and  the  introduction  to  Shakespeare's  "  Taming  of  the  Shrew"  were  founded,  is  thus  related 
in  Burton's  "  Anatomy  of  Melancholy : " — "  The  Duke  of  Burgundy,  at  the  marriage  of 
Eleonora,  sister  to  the  king  of  Portugall,  at  Bruges  in  Flanders,  which  was  solemnized  in 
the  deepe  of  winter;  when  as  by  reason  of  unseasonable  weather  he  could  neither  hawke 
nor  hunt,  and  was  now  tired  with  cards,  dice,  &c.,  and  such  other  domestick  sports,  or  to 
see  ladies  dance ;  with  some  of  his  courtiers  he  would  in  the  evening  walke  disguised  all 
about  the  towne.  It  so  fortuned,  as  he  was  walking  late  one  night,  he  found  a  countrey 
fellow  dead  drunke,  snorting  on  a  bulke ;  he  caused  his  followers  to  bring  him  to  his 
palace,  and  there  stripping  him  of  his  old  clothes,  and  attyring  him  after  the  court  fashion, 
when  he  wakened,  he  and  they  were  all  ready  to  attend  upon  his  excellency,  and  persuade 
him  that  he  was  some  great  duke.  The  poor  fellow  admiring  how  he  came  there,  was  served 
in  state  all  day  long ;  after  supper  he  saw  them  dance,  heard  musicke,  and  all  the  rest  of 
those  court- like  pleasures;  but  late  at  night,  when  he  was  well  tipled,  and  again  faste 
asleepe,  they  put  on  his  old  robes,  and  so  conveyed  him  to  the  place  where  they  first  found 
him.  Now  the  fellow  had  not  made  them  so  good  sport  the  day  before,  as  he  did  now, 
when  he  returned  to  himself;  all  the  jest  was  to  see  howhelooked  upon  it.  In  conclusion, 
after  some  little  admiration,  the  poore  man  told  his  friends  he  had  seen  a  vision,  constantly 
believed  it,  and  would  not  otherwise  be  persuaded,  and  so  the  jest  ended." 

281  0  O 


Additional  Notes. 


PAGE  20. 

Jolly  Good.Ale  and  Old.  This  song  opens  the  second  act  of  the  quaint  comedy  of 
"  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle ;"  the  author  of  which,  deigning  only  to  give  his  initials,  has 
remained  unknown.  The  title-page  of  the  first  edition  of  the  play  (1575)  states  it  to  have 
been  "  made  by  Mr.  S.,  master  of  art,"  and  to  have  been  first  performed  at  Christ  Church 
College,  Oxford.  From  an  entry  in  the  Bursar's  books  of  that  college,  under  the  year  1560, 
it  has  been  inferred,  but  not  conclusively,  that  the  author  of  "  Gammer  Gurton's  Needle" 
was  Bishop  Still. 

PAGE  55. 

Good  Wine  a  Gentleman.  Francisco  Redi,  the  author  of  this  trifle,  was  a  learned  court 
physician,  under  Prince  Leopold  and  Cosmo  the  Third,  Dukes  of  Tuscany.  As  a  poet  he 
appears  to  have  prescribed  wine  to  his  readers  quite  as  copiously  as  Dr.  Sangrado  prescribed 
water  to  his  patients.  Nearly  all  his  verses  are  bacchanalian ;  yet,  true  to  the  traditions  of 
his  profession,  he  took  his  own  prescriptions  very  moderate!}' ;  never  himself  drinking 
wine  without  diluting  it.  Temperance,  however,  did  not  preserve  him  beyond  the  age  of 
68,  and  in  March,  1694,  he  was  found  dead  in  his  bed.  His  most  famous  poem  is  "  Bacco  in 
Toscana" — from  which  the  present  piece  is  an  extract — and  has  been  well  translated  by 
Leigh  Hunt. 

PAGE  58. 

Saint  Anthony's  Sermon  to  the  Fishes.  Ulrich  Megerle,  a  bare -footed  Augustine  friar  of 
the  seventeenth  century  adopted  the  affectation  about  names  then  in  fashion,  and  called 
himself  Abraham  a  Sancta  Clara.  He  was  a  preacher  of  the  dramatic  and  picturesque 
order,  enlivening  his  pulpit  scenes  with  such  bursts  of  humour  as  are  found  attractive  even 
in  the  present  day.  The  poem  here  quoted  is  from  Megerle's  "  Judas,  the  Arch  Rogue," 
and  was  translated  by  an  anonymous  writer  in  "  The  Knickerbocker  Magazine." 

PAGE  61. 

A  Journey  to  Exeter.  This  journey  was  described  in  an  Epistle  to  the  Earl  of  Burling- 
ton, printed  in  the  second  volume  of  the  trade  edition  of  Gay's  Works,  dated  1767.  Mr. 
Gay,  adopting  the  quickest  route  practicable  in  his  time,  took,  to  reach  Exeter  from  London, 
six  days.  It  may  be  out  of  place  to  quote,  in  contrast,  a  modern  authority,  who  is  neither 
a  poet,  a  wit,  nor  a  humourist ;  but  Mr.  Bradshaw  shows,  in  his  "  Railway  Guide,"  that  the 
same  distance  is  now  darted  over  several  times  daily  in  less  than  six  hours. 

PAGE  67. 

Bad  Authors.  A  portion  of  the  prologue  to  Pope's  Satires.  "  Good  John,"  peremptorily 
ordered  to  tie  up  the  knocker,  was  John  Searle,  Pope's  footman  ;  to  whom  he  left  a  legacy. 
The  prologue,  written  in  the  form  of  an  epistle,  was  inscribed  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  whom 
Pope  addresses  as  "  the  friend  of  my  life." 

PAGE  88. 

A  Lady'*  Diary  forms  part  of  "  The  Journal  of  a  Modern  Lady,"  published  in  Swift's 
"  Miscellanies," 

PAGE  127. 

The  Ass  and  the  Flute.  Tomas  De  Yriarte  owes  his  literary  fame  chiefly  to  a  poem 
entitled  "  Musica,"  and  to  the  "  Fabulas  Literarias,"  of  which  the  "  Ass  and  the  Flute"  is 
one.  He  fell  under  the  censure  of  the  Inquisition  at  Madrid,  on  a  charge  of  inculcating 
infidel  principles,  and  was  obliged  to  perform  a  secret  penance  to  obtain  absolution.  He 
died  in  1791.  Mr.  Thomas  Roscoe  translated  this  fable  into  English. 

282 


Additional  Notes. 


PAGE  145. 

Monsieur  Tonson.  Before  this  Recitation  grew  into  the  Monopologue,  Monsieur  Tonson 
was  for  many  years  the  favourite  entertainment  at  every  spouting-club  and  school  breaking- 
up.  Its  authorship  was  attributed  to  John  Taylor,  who  commenced  life  as  an  oculist,  con- 
tinued it  as  a  theatrical  prologue  and  epilogue  writer,  and  ended  it  as  editor  of  the  "  Sun 
Newspaper."  That  he  wrote  "  Monsieur  Tonson  "  is  very  doubtful ;  but  no  doubt  seems  to 
be  entertained  as  to  the  hero  of  the  poem.  Tom  King  was  a  distinguished  scholar  at  Eton 
in  the  days  of  Addison  and  Steele,  matriculated  at  King's  College,  Oxford,  ran  through  his 
patrimony  and  then  ran  away  to  London,  in  apprehension  of  losing  his  fellowship.  He  set 
up  a  coffee-house  in  Covent  Garden — if  the  shed  beneath  the  portico  of  St.  Paul's  Church  in 
Hogarth's  print  of  "  Morning,"  where  Tom  King's  coffee-house  is  represented,  deserves  to  be 
called  a  house  of  any  kind.  He  was  the  father  of  Gentleman  King  the  comedian,  Garrick's 
contemporary.  "A  gentleman  told  me,"  says  Genest,  in  his  "  History  of  the  Stage,"  "  that 
King's  father  kept  a  coffee-house,  and  that  King,  when  a  boy,  had  often  brought  him  a  dish 
of  coffee."  King  the  elder  was  for  years  a  kind  of  professional  joker,  practical  and  verbal. 

PAGE  173. 

The  Devil's  Walk.  In  1830  a  sharp  controversy  was  raised  about  the  authorship  of 
this  jeu  d'esprit.  Mr.  Coleridge  had  owned  to  having  partly  divulged  in  rhyme  "  The 
Devil's  Thoughts ; "  but  "  The  Devil's  Walk  "  was  preremptorily  claimed  for  Mr.  Southey. 
Although  Mr.  R.  C.  Person  vainly  assured  the  editor  of  "  The  Morning  Ppst"  that  he 
possessed  the  identical  MS.  copy  of  verses  written  by  his  uncle  during  an  evening  party, 
the  fashionable  oracle  insisted  that  the  idea  had  seized  Mr.  Southey  one  morning  while 
shaving,  and  that  he  had  thrown  off  the  lines  ("  Poem  they  can  scarcely  be  called ! "  pro- 
nounced the  Della-Cruscan  critic)  before  breakfast.  The  editor  of  Southey's  collected 
Works  also  thinks  the  following  bantering  lines,  added  by  Southey  to  answer  a  friend  who 
had  urged  him  to  put  the  question  beyond  doubt,  to  be  conclusive : — 

"  And  whoever  shall  say  that  to  Person 
These  best  of  all  verses  belong. 
He  is  an  untruth-telling  whoreson, 
And  so  shall  be  call'd  in  the  song. 

And  if  seeking  an  illicit  connection  with  fame, 

Any  one  else  should  put  in  a  claim. 

In  this  comical  competition ; 

That  excellent  poem  will  prove 

A  man-trAp  for  such  foolish  ambition. 

Where  the  silly  rogue  shall  be  caught  by  the  leg. 

And  exposed  in  a  second  edition." 

The  great  probability  of  Professor  Person  having  originated  the  trifle,  and  of  its  having 
been  amplified  by  the  poets  for  whom  it  was  afterwards  claimed,  wholly  escaped  these 
critics.  There  is,  however,  a  little  book,  illustrated  by  R.  Cruikshank,  entitled,  "  The 
Devil's  Walk,  a  Poem  by  Professor  Person,  with  additions  and  variations  by  Southey  and 
Coleridge,"  the  editor  of  which  appears  to  have  taken  a  common-sense  view  of  this  great 
literary  question. 

PAGE  194. 

Malbroock.  This  burlesque  lament  on  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  was  written 
on  a  false  rumour  of  that  event  after  the  battle  of  Malplaquet.  For  years  it  was  only  known 
traditionally,  and  does  not  appear  among  the  innumerable  anecdotic  songs  printed  in  France 
during  the  middle  of  the  last  century.  But,  all  of  a  sudden,  in  1781,  it  burst  out  afresh 
and  became  the  rage.  It  happened  that,  when  Maria  Antoinette  gave  to  the  throne  of 
France  an  heir,  he  was  nursed  by  a  peasant  nicknamed  Madame  Poitrine.  The  nurse, 
while  rocking  the  royal  cradle,  sung  Malbroock,  and  the  dauphin,  it  is  said,  opened  its  eyes 
at  the  name  of  the  great  general.  The  name,  the  simplicity  of  the  words,  the  singularity  of 
the  burthen,  and  the  melodiousness  of  the  air,  interested  the  queen,  and  she  frequently  sang  it. 

2  S3 


Additional  Notes. 


Everybody  repeated  it  after  her,  and  even  the  king  condescended  to  quaver  out  the  words, 
Malborough  s'en  va-t-en  guerre,  Malbroock  was  sung  in  the  state  apartments  of  Versailles ; 
in  the  kitchens,  in  the  stables — it  became  quite  the  rage.  From  the  court  it  was  adopted  by 
the  tradespeople  of  Paris,  and  passed  thence  from  town  to  town,  and  country  to  country :  it 
was  wafted  across  the  sea  to  England,  where  it  soon  became  as  popular  as  in  France.  It 
is  said  that  a  French  gentleman  wishing,  when  in  London,  to  be  driven  to  Marlborough 
Street,  had  totally  forgotten  its  name  ;  but,  on  singing  the  air  of  Malbroock,  the  coachman 
drove  him  to  the  proper  address  with  no  other  direction.  Goethe,  who  travelled  in  France 
about  the  same  time,  was  so  teased  with  the  universal  concert  of  Malborough,  that  he  took 
a  hatred  to  the  duke,  who  was  the  innocent  cause  of  the  musical  epidemic. 

Malbroock  made  itself  heard,  without  ceasing,  apropos  of  everything,  and  apropos 
of  nothing ;  it  gave  its  name  to  the  fashions,  to  silks,  head-dresses,  carriages,  and  soups. 
The  subject  of  the  song  was  painted  on  fire-screens,  on  fans,  and  on  china ;  it  was 
embroidered  on  tapestries,  engraven  on  toys  and  keepsakes — was  reproduced  in  all  manner 
of  ways  and  forms.  The  rage  for  Malbroock  endured  for  many  years,  and  nothing  short 
of  the  Revolution,  the  fall  of  the  Bastile,  and  the  Marselloise  hymn,  could  smother  the 
sounds  of  that  never-ceasing  song. 

PAGE  218. 

The  Country  House  Party.  This  passage  is  selected  from  the  thirteenth  canto  of  "  Don 
Juan." 

PAGES  248,  261,  AND  274. 

Sir  Wilkins  et  sa  Dinah,  The  Beauty  and  the  Bee,  and  A  Seasonable  Story,  have  never 
before  been  printed. 

PAGE  263. 

The  Annuity.  The  little  work  from  which  "  The  Annuity"  has  been  selected  was 
printed,  for  private  distribution  only,  by  the  late  Mr.  George  Outram.  It  bears  the 
unpromising  title  of  "  Legal  Lyrics,  and  Metrical  Illustrations  of  the  Scottish  Forms  of  Pro- 
cess ;"  but  abounds  in  keen  wit  and  rich  humour,  which  force  themselves  on  the  appreciation 
even  of  readers  whose  misfortune  it  is  to  be  born  south  of  the  Tweed,  and  to  be  unacquainted 
with  the  exquisitely  simple  forms  and  phrases  of  Scottish  Law. 


CHISWICK  PRESS  ! — PRINTED  BY  WHITTINGHAM  AND  WILKINS, 
TOOKS  COURT,  CHANCERY  LANE, 


